Our Inner Demons
by chrissie0707
Summary: A little more Nickcentered than WUW4, cause it's fun to write about him. Synopsis: A murdered child, and everyone is dealing with the worst of themselves. Hence the title. Conclusion up.
1. Chapter 1

_Author Note:_ Edited and reposted. Changed from many, many silly tiny chapters into five parts.

* * *

_Part One_

It was a cool night, with an even cooler chill to the air having nothing to do with the onset of autumn or the light breeze tossing the leaves of the several tall oaks littering the park behind Ridgemont Elementary School. The grass was stippled with drops from the rain that had just recently stopped, and the white glow from the night's full moon threw eerie shadows over the scene. That's what the park was now, a scene. A crime scene. This park, which had only twelve hours earlier been populated with dozens of children, with laughter and play, had been violated. The moon's soft light was interrupted with the scattered red and blue strobes from the many assorted emergency vehicles parked at the curb.

The body of the young boy had been found by a teenage girl cutting through the park on her way home from her boyfriend's house. No more than eight or nine years old, he was sitting in a swing, positioned just so, propped upright. Nothing had looked out of the ordinary until she got up close. Then she saw the ring of bruises around his small neck and hurried to call for help. Someone had choked the life out of this small boy.

The breeze caught a hollow arm of the old, chipped merry-go-round. With a creak it lurched and started to spin, and Nick Stokes jumped at the sound. He'd been standing in the middle of the park as though in some sort of trance, afraid to get too close to the body. He felt that if he got too close, he would wake the boy, because that's what it looked like, like he was sleeping. It was a ridiculous thought, really, as more than half a dozen people had already approached the boy's still form. The girl who had found him, the responding officers and paramedics, the assistant coroner, and even Nick's partner for the night, CSI Catherine Willows.

Nick felt a cramp in his right hand and realized just how tightly he had been gripping the handle of his field kit. He relaxed his hold and checked his watch. It was ten till midnight, which meant he'd been standing stationary for at least fifteen minutes, since he and Catherine had arrived at the scene. _Get a grip, Stokes_.

It was odd, really, that someone whose job revolved around death would have such a problem with approaching dead bodies. Nick didn't actually have a problem with the body itself, just that first step towards it. That single step forward transported you into a whole other world, leaving the real world behind you. But it wasn't all bodies. He'd always had a problem with cases involving children. His supervisor, Gil Grissom, knew this, and yet continued to put him on the cases. This was probably because the stoic Grissom perceived Nick's tendency to feel close to the victims as a weakness, and was trying to get him to treat cases more the way he did: detached, with no emotional motivation. It kind of pissed Nick off.

His emotions fueled him, kept him going. It was how he worked, and it worked well for him for the most part. And it would work well for him this time, too. He would find out about the life of this boy, however short it was made to be. He would feel for the boy, and for the boy's family, and he would use the fire it gave him to find and bring justice to the monster that did this.

Nick took a deep breath. He just had to take that damned first step.

* * *

Catherine Willows blew a strand of reddish blonde bangs out of her eyes and leaned closer to the ground, the beam of her flashlight catching on something shiny in the grass. She grabbed a bindle and a pair of tweezers out her vest pocket, expertly tweezing the silvery fiber and inspecting it for a moment before placing it in the bindle. She folded the flap and stuck it in her pocket, then put her hand on her hip and turned back to the center of the park, where Nick had been. Except he wasn't there anymore.

Catherine squinted and turned back to the swing set. She jumped and let out a small yell at the figure standing next to her.

Nick gave her a sheepish smile. "Sorry, Cath. Didn't mean to scare ya."

Catherine punched him playfully on the arm. "When did you get so quiet?"

"You find something?"

There was something off in Nick's voice, Catherine but didn't push him. She'd let him take his time approaching the body. It wasn't an easy thing for any of them to do, especially when the victim was a child, but Nick seemed to take it to heart more than the rest of them. The thing that bothered her was how he never wanted to talk about it. She knew he wouldn't want to talk about it now, and so focused on her findings.

"Yeah. I got a silver fiber in the grass over by those trees." She guided Nick's attention to the trees with the beam of her flashlight.

Nick's own beam joined hers. "You thinkin' maybe the killer left the scene through there?" he asked.

Catherine shrugged. "Wouldn't rule it out."

Nick started to walk towards the trees and Catherine made to follow him when David's voice stopped her.

"Catherine, I'm done here."

Catherine looked down at the assistant coroner and back up at Nick's retreating form and quickly decided that she had better be the one to process the body. She'd noticed that the whole time Nick had been standing next to her, he hadn't so much as glanced at the small body.

She sighed and gave David her full attention. "Thanks, David."

He smiled and walked back to the coroner's van. Catherine noticed another silver fiber on the boy's shirt, and collected it. After a few moments, she glanced back over at Nick, in the process of bagging something from the ground about eight feet from where Catherine had found the first fiber.

They spent another half an hour at the scene, and rode back to the lab in silence. Catherine knew Nick was still thinking about the boy, but she didn't want to pry. Every case was hard on them, and she knew that this one would be no different.

* * *

Gil Grissom checked his watch for what was possibly the twentieth time in the past six minutes. He was running very late already, and his jammed printer was only working to complicate matters. He was due in Los Angeles that afternoon for a conference, and was dangerously close to missing his flight. Ironically enough, it was his notes for that very conference holding him up.

_This is why you should never leave things to the last minute_, he told himself. Gil rubbed a hand over his short beard in frustration and glared as his printer made some sort of buzzing sound. He smacked the top of the damned thing and, miraculously enough, it started to push the papers through. Gil smiled and stuffed the papers into a manila folder.

_Notes, check. Wallet, check. Keys…not check. _Gil's eyes darted all around the office, hoping to glimpse something metallic. A jingle from the doorway drew his attention.

"Looking for these?" Catherine asked, a playful smile on her lips. She held the small cluster of keys as though playing with a kitten.

Gil smiled gratefully and went to take them. He grabbed the last of his notes as the cursed printer spit them out and put the folder in his briefcase.

Catherine perched on the corner of his desk, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Where are you going?"

Gil looked up, surprised. It wouldn't be the first time he'd forgotten to tell his team he'd be out of town for a few days. "I'm speaking at a conference in L.A. for the next few days."

Catherine's eyes widened. "And you were planning on telling us when?"

"Um…now?"

Catherine shook her head with a small laugh. "You never cease to amaze me. And would I be correct in assuming that you're getting ready to ask me to take care of supervising while you're away?"

Gil smiled. "Could ya?"

"I suppose." She stood to leave. "I'll just consider it practice for when I take over your job."

Gil shot her a look. "I'll be back on Thursday."

Catherine bit her lip and looked around the office.

"What?" he asked, growing concerned. "Is something wrong?"

Catherine sighed. "Oh, I was just thinking about how I'm going to redecorate this office." She put her hands on her hips. "It really is depressing in here." She gave him a big smile.

Gil rolled his eyes. "Have a nice week."

Catherine turned and left the cramped office. "Have a good trip," she called over her shoulder, already moving down the hall.

The printer clicked loudly and Gil glared at it as it started reprinting the conference notes, all fifty-seven pages.

* * *

Catherine wasn't at all disappointed in the sudden, temporary bit of control thrust into her hands. She wasn't some kind of madwoman driven by power or anything, but she did like to be in charge, and was looking forward to heading up the team for the next few days. Besides, she'd been swing supervisor for several months, and had been a kind of co-captain of the graveyard shift with Grissom since the summer. Even so, it was going to be very nice to be the head honcho again.

Catherine walked briskly through the halls of the lab on her way to the morgue. She was due in the autopsy of the little boy from the park, whom they hadn't yet IDed. Catherine donned a light blue lab coat and pushed open the heavy door to the morgue, for the thousandth time ignoring the smell of human death and decay.

"Catherine, so nice of you to drop by." Dr. Al Robbins had a very dry sense of humor, and his sarcastic tone was not lost on Catherine.

"Sorry, Doc. I had to speak with Gil." She walked to the edge of the metal table and looked at the small body with sad eyes. Her cheerful mood fled her immediately, and she got down to business. "What do you have so far?"

"Well, cause of death was no surprise." Robbins gestured to the well-defined bruises around the tiny neck. "Asphyxiation due to strangulation. No other apparent injuries."

Catherine ran her eyes briskly over the body. The boy's skin was smooth and unmarred, despite the marks on his neck. "No defensive wounds," she said softly, mostly to herself.

Robbins nodded. "Probably attacked by someone he knew."

"A friend, or a family member, maybe. I don't think a kid could leave marks like these." Catherine studied the depth of the bruising. Some very strong hands had done this. "Probably not a good chance of getting any epithelials because of the rain."

Inwardly frowning about the difficulties that the case was faced with, she smiled at the doc. "Page me when you determine T.O.D.?"

Robbins nodded again. "I always do."

* * *

The Nick Stokes that had been so down and quiet at the crime scene Saturday night was not the same Nick Stokes that bounded into the crime lab Monday afternoon. Sara had joined their case, and Nick had managed to bag a much needed night off. Now, rested and refreshed, he was ready to get back to work.

His first stop was the DNA lab. He'd bagged a wad of chewing gum from the park, and although he was sure Catherine and Sara had found out the results in the past twenty-four hours, he wanted to check on his evidence himself. When Nick knocked lightly on the door to the lab, he was surprised to hear Greg Sanders' voice telling him to come in.

Nick entered the small lab and looked around the cluttered, disorganized space, raising his eyebrows. It hadn't looked like this a single day since Mia took over DNA. Swabs, test tubes, reports stacked so high they looked ready to topple over onto the floor. His friend and fellow CSI Warrick Brown was leaning on the counter.

Warrick jerked his head in greeting. "What's up, man?"

"Hey. Where's Mia?"

Greg rolled his chair around the counter and rested his arms on the surface. "Dear Mia is out sick tonight, and Ecklie has asked yours truly to man the lab." He didn't seem to be too happy about it.

_And backed up to boot. _Nick laughed. "I bet you hoped that you'd never be on that side of the counter again."

Greg raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, well." He rolled back to his computer and pushed through the smallest stack of papers. "You need something, or are you just here to visit?"

Nick absentmindedly played with a few pens sticking out of a coffee cup on the desktop. "Just wanted to check up on the gum I dropped off yesterday."

Greg sifted through the pile. "Uh, I don't see it here. Maybe someone else already picked it up."

"Yeah, I figured. Just thought I'd check on it myself. Thanks, Greg, you little lab rat, you." Nick gave Greg a big, cheesy grin, to which Greg responded with a single finger.

Nick laughed and punched Warrick lightly in the arm. "See ya," he said and headed for the conference room, hoping to find one of the girls there.

He was in luck. Sara Sidle was as curled up in one of the uncomfortable break room chairs as one could be, book in hand.

"Hey, Sar."

Sara looked. "Hey."

Nick sat in the seat opposite her. "Did you happen to get the DNA results on that gum from Mia?"

"Uh, yeah. No go. The rain washed away any chance of a good sample."

Nick was justifiably disappointed. "Damn."

Jim Brass popped his head in the room. "Hey, you guys working that case from the park?"

Nick nodded and Sara set her book to the side. She stretched out her legs. "Yeah."

The captain stepped into the room. "I just got a call from dispatch. A Ryan Walsh called in a missing person. His nine-year-old son, Nathaniel. He's on his way to the station."

"Did you tell him?" Nick asked. They didn't know for sure that the murdered boy was little Nathaniel Walsh, but it was probably a good guess.

Brass shook his head. "I couldn't."

Sara stood. "I'll meet him when he gets there."

She left to gather the photos Nick and Catherine had taken of the scene to be used for identification. At least, Nick hoped that she was getting the photos. It would be much easier for the father than seeing the body first. If it was always as hard as it was for Nick to see the body of a child when he had no connection to him, he couldn't even imagine what it would feel like for a parent.

* * *

Sara had to look away. It was the only way to keep up her professional demeanor as the man in front of her was falling to pieces, and even looking away she could hardly keep the tears in, herself. Ryan Walsh was holding his head in hands, quietly weeping. Sara'd had a feeling in her gut that this was going to turn out to be the boy, but she was never quite prepared for the reactions from the surviving friends or family. Brass was also in the room, standing in the corner as not to intrude upon the man's grief. Sara unconsciously played with the edges of the crime scene photos laid out in front of her, unsure of anything else to do.

"Are you sure this is him? I just can't…I was just with him." The man spoke in fragmented sentences in between sobs.

Sara cleared her throat to steady her voice. "Mr. Walsh," she started. It still cracked and she tried again. "Mr. Walsh, I know that this must be difficult for you," she paused as the man raised his eyes to meet hers.

"Do you?" he asked quietly.

Sara fidgeted uncomfortably in her chair. She'd heard this question many times throughout her years as a CSI, and she was never really sure how she should respond. She didn't want to seem insincere, and sound like she was reciting a rehearsed answer. But she also didn't want to sound too emotional. She needed to keep up the professional distance from the case and all those involved. She took a minute to decide on her answer.

"I know that it has to be hard," she said softly.

Ryan Walsh gave some sort of involuntary laugh and looked away, tears glistening in his eyes. "You have no idea. He was my son."

Brass hadn't spoken until now. He moved forward from the shadows of the small room and addressed Walsh. "Where were you Saturday night?"

Sara looked up harshly at Brass's brashness.

Walsh shook his head in disbelief. "I was just informed that my son is dead, was probably murdered, and now you want to interrogate me?"

Sara shook her head forcefully, shooting Brass an annoyed look. He returned it. "No, of course not," she said. "We're just trying to find out what happened to Nathaniel. Maybe if you could answer some questions, it would give us a feel for what happened that night."

Walsh looked at her hard with hollow eyes. "Miss, my wife died three years ago. It's been just me and the boys since. Now I've lost Nate…I just can't bear to deal with this right now."

He stood, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. "I have to pick my boy up from school." His eyes seemed to well again at the thought.

Sara bit her lip to keep her emotions in check.

Brass stared the guy down as he left the room. "We'll be in touch," he said, a little too harshly in Sara's opinion.

After she heard the click of the door shutting, she whirled around to face the detective. "That was a little unnecessary, don't you think?"

Brass stood his ground, hands in his pockets. "No, I don't think. That little boy was killed two nights ago, and this man didn't call it in that his son was missing until today."

Sara stood and gathered her things. "He seemed sad enough to me." She was very annoyed with Brass at the moment, and really wanted to get back to the lab.

Brass sighed. "People can be very convincing actors, Sara."

Sara gave him a disbelieving look and pushed past him.

"We need to get his statement," he called after her.

Sara didn't stop walking. "I'll do it tomorrow," she said without looking back at the captain. "You know, give him a day to get over the death of his son." Her tone was dripping with sarcasm, and she was happy that she couldn't see Brass's reaction. She couldn't remember ever having talked to him like that before.

It was something about a murdered child. It brings out the best and the worst in people.

* * *

Nick's good mood had rapidly deteriorated throughout the afternoon and he was simply and downright agitated by early evening. Warrick had been called out to a robbery on the strip and Greg had been busy in the DNA lab all day, so Nick couldn't even vent his frustrations to a friend. He was in a bad mood because of more than the case. It had been a few months since he had been under Catherine's strict command, and with Grissom out of town, he found himself once again answering to her. She wasn't giving him a moment to even breathe. He'd been running around the lab all evening, from wing to wing, top to bottom. He had to admit to himself that he hadn't always been pleased with the way she ran her cases, and had been nearly ecstatic when the team had been reunited and Grissom was the once again his boss. Catherine was still sharing some of the supervising duties, but it was clear to all that Grissom was the man in charge.

Everyone was on edge. The investigation had only just begun, and already seemed to be at a standstill. Nick ran a hand through his short hair and sighed. He was again sitting in the conference room with Sara, but this time Catherine was with them. They were having a little pow-wow about the case, and Nick had a feeling it wouldn't take too long. They had jack.

Catherine pulled out the coroner's report. "Doc Robbins placed time of death around ten PM."

"Little late for a nine-year-old boy to be out by himself," Nick commented.

"Right, so that furthers the theory that it was someone he knew, possibly related to, that killed him."

Sara visibly bristled at Catherine's observation, but the others paid it no mind. Nick sat back in his chair with his arms crossed, waiting for Catherine to say something that would give them a lead.

"The fibers I bagged at the scene were nylon," Catherine said, studying the paper that she had picked up from David Hodges. "Nothing special about them."

"So they could be from anyone who's been at that park in the last, what, few weeks?" Nick could not hide his annoyance.

"Basically, yeah." Catherine set the paper aside and picked up another. "And there was no DNA on that gum you found, due to the rain," and another, "and no epithelials found on the body, also due to the rain." She tossed the papers on the table and turned her attention to Sara. "Did you talk to the victim's father?"

"Yeah, just for a minute. He seemed really torn up about it. I don't think he was involved." There was an edge in Sara's voice that Nick couldn't place.

Catherine didn't seem to notice the edge, or care. "Are you telling me that you didn't even conduct a proper interview?"

"Catherine, the man's son was just murdered. I thought that warranted at least a day before we start interrogating him."

"It's our job, Sara. Do you want to find out what happened to this boy or not? Because right now, we don't have a damn thing." Catherine didn't wait for an answer, slamming her folder shut and stalking out of the room.

Sara gave a small laugh, and not a good-natured one. "Unbelievable," Nick heard her mutter under her breath, and she, too, left the room without even looking at him.

Nick pursed his lips and nodded. Yeah, they were doing _real_ good. If only they had some kind of concrete evidence.

He went over a mental inventory of everything they'd collected. Catherine had just done the same, but he wanted to think things through again for himself.

There were the fibers, but those were pretty much useless without something to compare them to. Strike one. There was the victim's clothing, bagged and waiting to be swabbed for DNA, but it almost a sure thing that there would be none. Rain was hell on a crime scene. Strike two. There was the chance for prints from the scene, but the damned rain had destroyed those, along with everything else, including the gum.

_The gum…_Nick suddenly found himself having a thought and he ran-walked down the hall to the DNA lab.

"Hey, Greg."

Greg looked up from an assortment of swabs spread out in front of him. "Nick, good, I was just gonna look for you."

Nick held up a hand. "Hold on a sec. You still have that gum I dropped off?"

Greg nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, that's what – "

"I had an idea," Nick interrupted. "The rain would have only washed away DNA on the surface, yeah? What about the inside of the wad?"

Greg smiled and snapped his fingers, pointing at the screen of the computer in front of him. "Great minds think alike." He pulled a paper out of the printer dock.

He scanned the report quickly then placed it face-down on the counter, crossing his arms over it. He took a deep breath. "You know, the thought occurred to me while I was replacing my coffee stash to its hiding place." He looked pleased with himself. "I mean, it's a really _good_ hiding place. You guys would never even think to look – "

"Greg!" Nick cried impatiently. This was important. Their case could break with the results from that gum.

"Anyways. It's what's on the _inside_ that counts, right?" He held the paper out to Nick. "And what's on the inside is male DNA."

Nick eagerly grabbed the paper and looked it over. "Seven alleles in common with the victim."

Greg sat back, locking his fingers behind his head. "Way to steal my thunder, by the way."

Nick gave him a genuine apologetic smile. His mood had just improved greatly. "Sorry, man. Good job though." He gave Greg a mock-salute and headed for Catherine's office.

As he was walking down the hall, he heard Greg talking to himself.

"I've still got it."

* * *

Catherine sat behind her desk and frowned at the file in front of her. She couldn't remember another case that had given her a headache with the intensity of the one currently pounding away at her brain. Her team was not working well together. Nick was uncharacteristically moody, and Sara was uncharacteristically uncooperative. And it was just perfect timing for this to be the week Gil was away. She wasn't by any means saying they were incapable of solving the case, but he just seemed to have that tendency to find the clues and evidence that they didn't. She closed her eyes and tried to put herself in a Gil Grissom frame of mind.

_WWGD? _She thought to herself with a small chuckle.

"I wasn't under the impression there was anything to laugh about around here today."

Catherine's eyes flew open as she heard Warrick's dry baritone. He stood in the doorway, leaning on the frame, arms crossed.

"That's how it seems anyway. I thought I was in the morgue up here."

Catherine smiled. "Hey, you." It took some effort, but she kept up the smile as the glint from his wedding band caught her eye.

Warrick walked into the office and sank into a chair. "I hear you guys have a rough case."

Catherine raised her eyebrows, tearing her eyes away from the gold band. "You heard right." She propped her elbow on her desk and rested her head on her hand. "We have nothing. No evidence. No leads. No suspects."

"Yeah, I talked to Sara." Warrick leaned forward.

Catherine snorted. "I'm having a hell of a time with her."

"Oh, come on, Cath. This is difficult for everyone. You just need to give her some time." She hated how personally he was talking to her. Things weren't the same between them, at least from her perspective.

"Oh, I'll give her some time. How's a week?" Catherine's head continued to pound, and she averted her eyes as Warrick's gaze bore into her. She wished he wouldn't look at her like that, but it softened her.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking back at him. "It's just this case."

Warrick gave her that understanding look, awaiting some kind of heart-to-heart. He wasn't going to get it today.

Catherine cleared her throat. "Uh, don't you have a case of your own?" She felt a tug inside of her as he looked back at her with a hurt expression.

"Yeah, I do." Warrick sat back in the chair and slapped his palms on his thighs. "I better check up with Vega. See if he has any news." His eyes lingered on hers just a moment longer, and then he got up to leave.

Catherine scrunched her eyes shut. "Warrick?"

"Yeah?" He turned around, his eyes bright.

Catherine bit her lip. "Nothing." She forced a smile. "Never mind."

"I'll see ya," Warrick said stiffly as he left.

Catherine watched him leave and let out a frustrated sigh. She didn't get even a full minute to collect her thoughts when there was a knock at her door.

"What?" she demanded, more than a little annoyed.

Nick raised his eyebrows as he entered. "Is something wrong?"

Catherine plastered on a big smile. "No, Nick, everything is just fine and dandy." She saw him start to speak but kept talking. "You know, except for the fact that we have a murdered nine-year-old boy and, oh yeah, no leads." There was acid in her tone, and Nick looked hurt. Well, at least she was two for two.

He recovered very quickly. His face was set. "Greg found some DNA on that gum from the park."

Catherine was already in much too bad a mood to focus on the fact that this was the first good news of the day. "Why the hell didn't he come to me with it?"

Nick opened his mouth and shut it, dumbfounded. He took a breath and stared Catherine down. "Look, Cath. I know this is a hard case, and that you're obviously having a hard time with it, plus the whole supervising thing, but you need to cut the rest of us a little slack. We're having just as hard a time as you."

He set a DNA printout on her desk. "I'm going to Ryan Walsh's house to ask him a few more questions. When I get back, maybe we can try to start acting like a team."

"You're right, Nick. I'm sorry." Catherine smiled, feeling very disappointed in herself. She didn't know where this attitude had come from. "Let me know what you find out, okay?"

Nick nodded and headed out. Catherine leaned back and ran her hands through her hair. She was letting this case get to her, because of that lost little boy and the father he'd never come home to. And it wasn't even so much the case itself, but their lack of progress.

She looked down at the printout Nick had left with her. The DNA found on the gum was from a male relative of the victim. As depressing and heartbreaking as that could end up being, Catherine felt a little better. At least they were going somewhere now.

* * *

Nick squinted at the small house through his windshield and orange-tinted sunglasses. The sun was just beginning to set, its glare still shining in his eyes. It looked like any normal house, white paint with a dark blue door and shutters on the windows. The shrubs outside were well-maintained, the lawn lush and green. Nick was already building an opinion of the Walsh family, and so far nothing horrible or horribly out of the ordinary stuck out to him.

He parked the SUV at the curb in front of the house, and the officer with him pulled his cruiser to a stop behind the truck. They hadn't called Ryan Walsh to let him know they were coming, but the car parked in the driveway set Nick at ease. At least he was home.

Nick knocked on the door and only had to wait about twenty seconds before he heard hurried footsteps approaching the door. It opened, revealing a small boy of about four years. The boy looked up at the two men on the threshold with a mix of shyness and excitement, his eyes sparkling as they focused on Officer Blaisedale's badge and gun.

His eyes moved to the gun on Nick's hip. "Are you a police man, too?" he asked.

Nick smiled. "Kind of." He crouched so he was eye level with the small boy. "What's your name?"

"Jacob," was the timid response.

"Well, hi there, Jacob. I'm Nick. Is your dad home?"

The little boy nodded. "Dad!" he screamed, turning into the house.

Nick smiled. He remembered being a kid, all those times his mom or dad told him to go get one of his siblings and he would simply yell for them to come downstairs. "Well, I could have done that," his mother would say with a smile.

"Jacob, don't yell like that! Jesus!"

Nick flinched as Ryan Walsh came into the front hall. So, this guy wasn't like his mom.

Little Jacob looked at the ground and mumbled a 'sorry, Dad.'

Ryan looked curiously at the men on his doorstep. "It's okay, Jacob. Would you go to your room and play for a little while?"

As soon as the boy was out of earshot, Ryan placed his hands on his hips and addressed Nick. "Can I help you?"

"Sir, I'm Nick Stokes, with the crime lab." Nick turned to introduce Blaisedale, but Ryan cut him off.

"I don't believe this. I already talked to you people once today. My son was killed. What more do you want from me?"

"Just to ask you a couple of questions, won't take any time at all." Nick used the voice he always used while dealing with potential suspects. He didn't want to think of the father as a suspect, but they didn't have anything else to assume.

Ryan Walsh looked away, and Nick took a moment to study the man. Sara had said he'd seemed sincerely distraught over the loss of his son, and Nick guessed that could account for the tone he'd used with Jacob. He would have preferred to see Walsh being overly affectionate with his younger son, but people dealt with traumatic situations in different ways.

When Walsh looked back, Nick could see the resignation in his face. "Can we just make this quick? I don't want Jacob around any of this."

"Yes, sir," Nick said and followed Ryan through the front hall into the living room. The officer stayed outside of the room, standing stiffly. Ryan sat in an overstuffed armchair, and Nick went around to the sofa. "Mr. Walsh, when was the last time you saw Nathaniel?"

Ryan looked at his hands. "Saturday night. I took the boys to the park."

"What time did you leave?" Nick asked, noting what Walsh said on a pad of paper.

"We didn't." Tears welled in the man's eyes. "Well, Nate didn't leave with us, anyways."

Nick motioned for the man to continue.

Ryan sighed. "One of Nate's friends was there, and Nate asked if he could spend the night at his house. I said it was okay. When Jacob and I left, I told Nate to be home yesterday afternoon."

Nick frowned. "But you didn't call in the missing person until today."

Something Nick couldn't place flashed in Walsh's eyes. "You have to wait twenty-four hours for them to be missing, right?"

Nick shifted in his seat. "Technically, but if it was my kid, I think I would have called as soon as I knew something was wrong."

"I don't appreciate your tone, Mr. Stokes. I thought you were here to help me figure out what happened. It sounds like you think I had something to do with this."

Nick shook his head. "Nah, I don't think anything yet. I'm just collecting evidence." Nick noticed Jacob poking his head out of his room, and tilted his head to look past Walsh.

Ryan noticed Nick's shift in attention and turned around in his seat. "Damn it, Jacob, I asked you to stay in your room!"

Jacob jumped and quickly shut the door. Nick frowned at the man sitting across from him. At this moment, he didn't exactly seem like a grieving father.

Walsh saw his stare and tried to recover. "I'm sorry, it's just…hard."

"I understand. But I don't think I'm the one you need to apologize to." Nick nodded towards the little boy's room.

That unidentified emotion flashed in Walsh's eyes again. "Mr. Stokes, I would really like to be with my son right now. Could you call me if you have any more questions?"

Nick nodded. "Sure. Just one more thing. Could you tell me the name of the friend that Nathaniel saw at the park?"

Walsh looked up at the ceiling. "Uh, it was Spencer Miller."

Nick noted this on his paper. "And do you know the name of Spencer's parents?"

Walsh blew air out of his cheeks and rubbed his face. "Eh, Mike and Judy, I think."

"Thank you," Nick said, sticking the small pad in his vest pocket. "We'll be in touch."

"Yeah, I've heard that one before," Walsh muttered.

Nick gestured to Officer Blaisedale that they were leaving. Before they made it to the front door, Nick heard a door open with just the softest click. He looked back to see Jacob Walsh watching him with wide, frightened eyes. Nick gave him a small, friendly smile, but the boy didn't return it.

"What are you thinking, Nick?" Blaisedale asked him as they made their way to their vehicles.

Nick shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know." And he didn't. He'd gotten very mixed feelings from the short visit to the Walsh house. He didn't know very much more than when he had started out, but he did have a phone call to make.

_Mike and Judy Miller, _he thought. _Please tell me you know what happened to this little boy._

* * *

"Come on, Hank! We need an exemplar for the gum, or else the evidence is useless!" Jim Brass argued into the phone.

Nick listened to Brass's side of the conversation from across the captain's office, settled in a chair on the other side of his desk. They had moved onto the next step of their investigation: DNA comparison on the gum. Ryan Walsh had already said that he had been at the park with his two sons, so they knew that it had to have come from either the father or the younger son.

At Catherine's request, Nick had passed off chasing Mike and Judy Miller. She said that she would handle their interview personally, and that Nick should follow-up on the gum. Truth be told, Nick was a little peeved. They weren't going to find anything new from the gum or the warrant Brass was in the process of getting for him. They just needed the samples to bring closure to the evidence. Nick was itching to follow the new lead, but Cath was the boss.

"No, I'm not saying that we're looking into him as a suspect, we just need to make the comparison to exclude him." Brass spoke patiently, but Nick knew the detective was tightly wound, and just focusing on saying whatever needed to be said to secure the warrant.

After a moment, Brass gave Nick a thumbs-up, and Nick breathed a sigh of relief. He knew that they didn't really have enough to warrant the DNA samples, but Brass had pulled through for them once again.

"Thanks a million, Hank." Brass hung up the phone and addressed Nick. "We got the warrant."

"Father and brother?" Nick asked.

"Yep." Brass grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair. "I'll head over and pick it up."

Nick stood. "I'll meet ya at the house."

An hour and a half later, Nick was walking back through the lab. Ryan Walsh had once again seemed more than a little unwillingly to help them, but with the help of the warrant, he really didn't have a choice. Nick had gotten swabs from both Ryan and Jacob, and was dropping them off with Greg.

He entered the DNA lab and stifled a laugh. Greg looked more than a little haggard. His carefully styled messy hair was now authentically messy, and his shoulders were slumped.

"Rough night?" Nick deadpanned.

Greg glared daggers at him. "I forgot how much work this was. I'll have to start giving Mia a break." He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "At least I think I'm done for the night. I need a break myself."

Nick wordlessly held out his two swabs and tried not to smile.

Greg stared at him. "I hate you, Stokes."

"Aw, come on, Greggo. I need these compared to that sample you got from the gum."

Greg didn't seem to be budging, so Nick switched tactics, from begging to flattery. "You know, it really was pretty cool the way you thought to cut the gum in half."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Greg took the swabs. "It's not like you didn't figure out the same thing."

"But you figured it out first," Nick said, mock-admiration on his face.

Greg allowed himself to smile. "I did, didn't I? I'll page you when I get the results."

"Thanks, man." Nick headed down the hall towards Catherine's office. He hadn't checked in with her since that evening. Or with Sara, for that matter, although she seemed to be holed up somewhere and wasn't jumping at the chance to talk to either him or Catherine. Especially Catherine. It wasn't like the two women were best friends or anything; there had always been tension between them, but never like this.

_Speak of the devil,_ Nick thought, passing one of the small lab rooms.

Sara was standing over the table, Nathaniel Walsh's clothes spread out in front of her. There were at least twenty swabs heaped in two piles next to her. One pile contained capped swabs, ready for processing; the others were still in their sterile plastic wrap. Another was poised in her hand as she ran it down one leg of the boy's jeans. She didn't appear to be on the most cheerful of moods, but her face wasn't as hostile as it had been earlier, so Nick figured it was safe to say 'hi.'

"Hey, Sara. You find anything?"

Sara looked up at him, obviously annoyed at the intrusion into what she had claimed as her space. Her shoulder-length brown hair was tied back in a messy knot at the nape of her neck, something she did when she got down to business.

She went back to her swab. "I don't know, Nick, I'm still collecting the samples," she said, speaking as though she were talking to a small child.

Nick frowned. "What is up with the attitude, Sara? If you wanna be pissed with Catherine, that's fine. But I didn't do anything to you." He turned and started out of the room.

"Wait."

Nick turned back to Sara and raised his eyebrows. "Yeah?"

Sara set the swab down. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's gotten into me tonight." She looked away, and gave a small laugh. "I'm always listening to Grissom telling you not to get so attached to the victim, or emotionally involved with the case…and I always thought, score for me. But here I am, doing the same thing."

Nick clenched his jaw. "We can't let it interfere with the case," he said stiffly, not sympathetic or comforting. "I gotta go see Cath." Without another word, he marched out of the room.

Nick sighed. It seemed as though he was mood-monitor for the night, but every time he got someone else feeling better, he found himself feeling worse. 'Score for me?' _What the hell does that mean?_

Is that really how she treated their work together? As some kind of contest? Did she have a little notebook where she kept score, noting every time Grissom was displeased with Nick's work?

Suddenly, Nick remembered a couple years ago, and the lead CSI promotion. Both he and Sara had applied for it, and Nick had gotten the recommendation from Grissom. Even though the position had been eliminated and Nick never got the title, or the raise, it had meant so much to him that Grissom had thought that highly of his abilities. It had never even occurred to him that as Grissom had recommended him, he had not recommended Sara. He heard through office gossip that Sara had questioned Grissom about Nick's commendation, even asking why he'd picked him over her, but never really thought anything about it. Now he did. Nick thought that he and Sara were friends, in the least at a work level, but maybe that was assuming too much.

All of a sudden, Nick didn't really feel like talking to anyone, so he broke off his path to Catherine's office and headed instead for the break room. To Nick's relief, it appeared empty. He took his frustrations out on the metal trash can, and kicked it across the room. It hit the cabinets with a loud crash, its contents spilling out onto the carpet.

* * *

Warrick was woken with a start by a loud crash that sounded not far from his head. He'd wrapped up his robbery case without any difficulties. A couple of teenage boys had wanted some cigarettes and didn't have any money. They ended up taking what was in the register, as well. At least they were stupid. Prints on everything, and one of them had been booked before for underage drinking. When faced with the prospect of prison, he quickly gave up his two friends. Warrick had offered to help Catherine with the Walsh case, but she had told him that at the moment, they didn't have enough to warrant four CSIs on the case, and to wait for something to come up. So wait he did.

Warrick sat up from where he had been stretched out on the couch and turned towards the door. "…the hell?"

Nick jumped a little at the sight of him. It didn't seem as though he had known that Warrick was in the room so Warrick forgave his friend, just a little. At least he hadn't intentionally woken him. Still, he looked a little annoyed that Warrick was around.

"Sorry, 'Rick," his friend drawled. "Didn't know you were in here."

Warrick rubbed his eyes. "It's cool, man." He looked over to where the trash can lay on its side, papers and coffee cups spread out around it. There was a sizeable dent in it. "What are you beating up on the trash can for anyways?"

"Just got a lot on my mind." Nick remained in the doorway, keeping his distance. His eyes seemed exceptionally dark, and that wasn't Nick. Nick would clomp into the room and flop on the couch, a big, goofy grin on his face.

Warrick frowned. None of his team was acting like themselves. "Yeah," he said, stretching. "And it doesn't seem like you're the only one, either. I talked to Sara earlier. What is up with her?"

Nick snorted. "Maybe it's nature's special time," he said coldly.

Warrick frowned. Nick was always teasing, but he had never heard him say anything mean about one of his co-workers. _Maybe it's yours,_ he thought. "You wanna talk?"

Nick seemed to debate with himself for a minute. "Nah," he finally said. "I've got too much to do. You know, gotta…check on my DNA samples, and…see what Sara's working on."

Warrick nodded, even though it seemed that his friend was stretching, creating an excuse to not talk. Warrick let him. "I'll catch ya later?"

Nick shrugged. "Sure. Whatever." But he didn't make to leave the room.

Warrick took the hint. With a sigh, he heaved himself off of his comfy couch. It looked like naptime was over. When he left the room, he turned back in time to see Nick swing his foot at the fallen trash can again. What was wrong with his friends? It looked like they were all falling apart.

* * *

Nick had to admit that he felt better after kicking the crap out of the garbage can. His foot throbbed a little, but he didn't care. He wasn't as angry, and was starting to feel disappointed in himself, a little like a jackass. He was acting the exact same way that he was ticked off at Cath and Sara for acting. If only the women could be so self-aware.

Nick's stomach growled loudly, and it came to his attention that he hadn't eaten anything since he left for work that afternoon. He crouched by the mini-fridge and poked through it. Half of a burrito, a couple cans of Coke, and…a jar of blood.

"Yes," he said sarcastically. Now he was also pissed at Grissom and his damned experiments and Grissom keeping said damned experiments in their fridge.

His appetite gone, Nick stood and started to pace.

"Nick?"

Nick turned at the sound of his name. Greg stood in the doorway, fiddling with a piece of paper.

"Are those the results?" Nick asked. He wasn't exactly excited about it. It was pointless evidence, because it was circumstantial. They already knew what it meant and how it got there.

"Um…yeah." Greg looked anxiously around. "I swear, man, I didn't screw this up."

Nick frowned. "What are you talking about?"

He stepped towards Greg, who took a step back, and Nick was forced to rethink his current facial expression. He tried to look a little less pissed at the world. "What's wrong with the results?" he asked, with less of a hostile tone.

Greg looked down at the paper. "Well, I ran your swabs and compared them to the gum. I ran the dad's first. When I saw the results, I ran it again. And then I checked them against each other, and – "

"Come on, man. Spit it out."

Greg took a deep breath. "Okay. The gum. Match to the younger brother, Jacob Walsh."

Nick didn't get it. "Okay. We knew it was gonna be one of them. What's so weird about that?"

Greg handed him the paper. Nick scanned it, his eyes progressively widening. "What the hell…" he muttered.

"See what I mean?"

Nick looked up at Greg, and then pushed past him and walked quickly to Catherine's office. "Catherine," he said, stepping directly through the threshold and up to her desk.

Catherine was on the phone. She held up a finger, signaling for Nick to wait a minute. He tapped his foot impatiently.

"Yes, if you could just come in for a few questions, we would really appreciate your help with the case." Catherine nodded. "An hour tops, really, we won't take up too much of your time. Great. Yeah, just go to the front desk and tell them you're here to see Catherine Willows. Thank you. Uh huh. Goodbye." She replaced the receiver to the cradle. "Yeah, Nick?"

"There's something really weird going on here, Cath."

"What do you mean?"

"It's these DNA samples. The gum was a match to the brother. But Greg also compared the father's DNA. There were no alleles in common. With either of the sons."

Catherine looked up him questioningly.

"Ryan Walsh is not the father of these boys," Nick said.

Catherine's mouth formed a little 'o' of surprise. "Well," she said. "That's unexpected."

* * *

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

_Part Two_

Sara rode the two blocks to the LVPD station in silence in the passenger seat. It wasn't as if Nick was jumping at the chance to talk to her anyway. She didn't get it. She thought that she had reconciled with him. It was hard to read Nick's expression behind his sunglasses, but he was acting like he was mad at her.

Their team had had to wait until morning to conduct the interviews, as it was probably rude to call someone into the police station at three in the morning and ask him if he knew that he wasn't the father of his children.

Sara held onto the armrest as Nick took the turn into the station parking lot faster than was necessary. Sara had always thought that was a guy thing, that driving fast helped to displace some of the stress or anger a person was feeling. She braced herself as he slammed on the brakes, screeching into a parking spot, and exited the vehicle without looking at her.

Sara rolled her eyes and reached for the door handle at the same time that she heard the chirp of Nick locking the doors. The handle didn't budge, and she glared as she pulled up the lock and hopped out of the truck.

"Lock it, will ya?" the back of Nick's head asked her. She made a face at it, and followed him into the building.

They were going to be joined by Detective Vartann while interviewing Ryan Walsh for the third time. When Catherine called Brass and told him to get the man into the station, he'd offered to sit with her when she spoke with the Millers. Sara had a feeling Brass was avoiding her. She didn't mind it, because if he wasn't avoiding her, then she would have to make a point to avoid him.

Sara had to rush to keep up with Nick's pace as he entered the crowded halls of the station. She pushed her way past a couple of teenagers huddled by the front desk, and smacked straight into Nick's back. He'd stopped just past the desk without warning, and he glanced back at her, annoyed.

Sara narrowed her eyes at him and scanned the hall. "Is he here yet?"

"I don't know, Sara, I got here about a second before you did." Nick spoke to her in the same tone she'd used with him earlier, craning his neck to look down the hall.

She felt a pang of guilt, but it didn't last long. Nick was being an ass.

Sara spotted the tall, dark-haired detective outside of one of the small interrogation rooms and raised a hand to get his attention. She moved around Nick, bumping him with her elbow, and went down the hall.

Detective Vatann ducked his head in greeting. "Sara. Nick." His eyes focused over Sara's head.

"Detective," Nick said.

"I gotta tell you, this guy is not too pleased that he's being called in again." Vartann cast a glance through the window into the room where Ryan Walsh sat, arms crossed, glaring at the wall.

"You'd think he'd be a little more cooperative," Sara said, following his gaze. "I mean, we are trying to find out who killed his son."

"Yeah. And not doing a very good job at it," Nick said dryly. He nodded to Vartann and entered the room.

Vartann looked questioningly at Sara, jerking his head at Nick's retreating form. Sara shrugged and followed suit, the detective right on her heels.

Walsh was on his feet as soon as they entered the room. "I demand an explanation," he said heatedly. He looked at Nick. "You were the last person I talked to last night, and now you're the first person I talk to this morning?"

"You can talk to me first, if you want," Sara said innocently. She didn't miss the smile that Nick tried to hide, looking down at his shoes. It made her feel better.

Walsh threw his hands up. "I give up. What more do you want from me?" He sank back into his chair and held his head in his hands, crumbling once again into the broken man Sara had spoken with the previous afternoon.

Nick and Sara settled into the chairs on the opposite side of the table and the detective moved to stand behind them. Sara noticed Nick glancing at his watch.

Walsh looked up at Vartann as if he was just now noticing that the man was in the room. "Who are you? Another cop?"

"I'm Detective Vartann, with homicide," the detective answered coolly.

"Wait, wait, wait. Hold on here just a minute." Walsh looked from Nick to Sara and back again, panic and fear evident on his face. "Are you here to help me or interrogate me?"

"That all depends on what we find, Mr. Walsh," Nick said before Sara could reassure the man.

She kicked him under the table.

"Ow," Nick said to her under his breath.

Sara looked at him and raised her eyebrows towards Walsh, to whom she then turned with a smile. "Mr. Walsh, we're just trying to find out what happened to your son."

Nick cleared his throat.

Walsh glanced at Nick and then focused on Sara. His shoulders slumped. "What can I do?"

Sara folded her hands in front of her. "Mr. Walsh, are your sons adopted?"

"What the hell kind of question is that?" the man replied angrily.

"Calm down, now, Mr. Walsh. It's just a question."

Sara recognized Nick's tone. It was one he reserved solely for pacifying possible suspects, laying the accent on nice and thick. It was an unfair advantage he had over her. And more than that, Sara didn't like that Nick was treating this man like a suspect.

"Of course they're not adopted. I've raised my boys from the day they were born."

The man's tone did not change. Then he took in their serious expressions. His eyes flickered nervously between the two CSIs and the detective. "Why do you ask?"

Sara stared at her hands. She didn't want to be the one who to tell this man that he was not the father of his sons. Next to her, Sara heard Nick clear his throat again, but he didn't speak. Detective Vartann nudged Sara lightly on the shoulder, and she looked up into Ryan Walsh's pleading eyes.

"What's going on…" Then Walsh's eyes widened in realization. Sara must have betrayed more with her expression than she had intended. He leaned back in his chair. "Oh, God." He brought his hands up to his face. "That…sample you took. Oh, God."

Sara felt Nick shift uncomfortably in his seat. He looked at his watch again. Sara frowned at his rudeness.

Walsh looked at them, and Sara was finding it hard to read the look in his eyes. "Who…"

When it became apparent to Sara that the man was not going to be able to finish the question, she spoke up. "We don't know. And can't, without a sample." She squinted. The man looked relieved.

Nick leaned in. "Do you know how this happened?" Now to go along with Nick's suspect voice, he was using his suspect look.

Sara wanted to kick him again, but settled for a quick jab of her elbow into his ribcage. He glared at her.

Ryan Walsh didn't seem to notice how childish the CSIs were acting. It in fact looked as though he'd forgotten there was even anyone else in the room. He looked away. "I always wondered if she was having an affair," he said softly. "I just never imagined…"

"Would you excuse me?" Nick asked suddenly. He gave Walsh a smile and left the room without a word to Sara or Vartann.

Sara watched him leave, wondering what in hell he was up to. She saw him get out his cell phone once he was in the hall, but because of the construction of the room, couldn't hear what he was saying. He walked down the hall, talking into his phone.

Sara suddenly felt very uncomfortable and alone in the room with the distraught man, even as Vartann slid into the seat that Nick had vacated.

"Mr. Walsh, do you have any idea who would want to hurt Nathaniel?" Vartann's refusal to refer to the boy as Walsh's son did not go unnoticed by Sara.

The man looked down at his lap. Slowly, he shook his head.

Sara was suddenly overcome with a wave of sympathy for him. She reached out and covered his hand with her own. "We're going to find who did this," she said softly.

"Thank you." Ryan Walsh's voice was barely a whisper.

* * *

As Nick took the stairs two at time, one floor above the room where Sara and detective Vartann were sitting with Ryan Walsh Catherine was just settling into a seat across from a couple in their mid-thirties; Mike and Judy Miller. The couple had told Catherine as soon as she came into the room that they would be nothing but helpful.

Catherine gave the couple a warm smile. "Mr. and Mrs. Miller," she started before was cut off by the ringing of Brass's cell phone.

"Excuse me," Brass said, and went the corner of the room to take the call.

Catherine turned back to the couple. "Mr. and Mrs. Miller, we were hoping that you could tell us a little bit about what happened Saturday night."

Mike Miller nodded, and put his arm around his wife's shoulders. "Of course. Anything to help Ryan."

Catherine strained to keep her attention on the couple, but she could hear Brass speaking softly from across the room.

""No, no, it's fine. Yeah, we just started. Sure, sure."

Catherine cocked her head, ignoring Brass. "Are you close with Mr. Walsh?" she asked Mike, as they were already under the impression that the young boys were friends.

Before Mike could respond, Brass leaned in close to Catherine's ear. "Nick's on his way up. He said he wanted to sit in on both meetings."

Catherine had to keep up her professional demeanor in front of the Millers, and so couldn't really tell Brass what she wanted to: that she didn't give a rat's ass what Nick wanted, she had told him to stay in the Walsh interview.

Brass straightened and spoke to the Millers, who looked panicked, as though worried that the call had something to do with them. "There will be another CSI joining us in just a minute," he said, settling back in his chair.

"Okay," Judy said.

They all sat for a minute, waiting for Nick. Catherine looked at her watch. "We don't have to wait for – "

The door to the room opened, and Nick poked his head in. "Sorry, guys." He smiled at the Millers. "I'm Nick Stokes. I'm also with the crime lab."

He stopped for a second, and Catherine inwardly smirked as he realized there wasn't a chair for him. "I'll just – " He gestured to the wall, where he stood, arms crossed casually.

Catherine turned her attention back to the Millers. "Sorry about the interruption," she said, perhaps too pointedly, for she could almost feel Nick's eyes boring holes into the back of her head. "You were saying?"

"Well, we used to go out sometimes on the weekends," Judy said, her eyes moving to the new arrival. "Before Eileen's accident."

"And Eileen is?" Nick asked.

"Ryan's late wife," Mike answered. Judy played with her wedding ring.

Catherine opened her mouth to ask another question, but was interrupted before she even had the chance.

"Mr. Walsh said she died three years ago. She had an accident?"

Catherine cleared her throat loudly, none too pleased with the way that Nick had come in and taken over her interview.

"Yes," Judy said, glancing at Catherine. Her expression softened, even seemed a little sad. "She was coming home through the back door and stepped on one of Nate's action figures. She slipped and hit her head on the kitchen counter." The woman looked down at her lap.

Catherine felt a pang of sympathy for the woman who had her friend taken so suddenly and unexpectedly. She wanted to comfort her, but instead stuck to the topic at hand. "That must have been very hard for him," she said gently.

The woman's reaction was not what Catherine was expecting. Judy looked up, anger in her eyes. Catherine was taken aback, and the other woman's expression softened. "It…it was," she said.

Her husband took her hand.

Judy looked at Brass. "Could I get a glass of water?" she asked.

"Sure," Brass said with a smile.

Catherine heard Nick cough behind her. She wasn't the only one who'd seen the flash in Judy Miller's eyes.

Brass got the cup and set in on the table in front of her. She took a sip and set the cup back.

After a moment of silence passed through the room, Mike Miller reached out for the cup and drank as well. "Did you have anything else to ask?" he asked.

Nick coughed. He was trying to get Catherine's attention but, although he saw her perk up at the sound, it seemed as though she was going to ignore him. He did, however, by accident grab the attention of Judy Miller. She looked up him for a moment, her stare unreadable. When Brass set a cup of water in front of her, she averted her gaze and smiled at the captain.

Each of the Millers took a sip in turn. Brass was lowering himself back into his chair, but Nick bumped him with his elbow.

"What?" he asked in a low whisper.

"Did you have anything else to ask?" Mike Miller was asking Catherine.

Nick saw Catherine glance up him, as if daring him to be the one to ask another question. He motioned for her to do it, looking pointedly at her, willing her to ask the right question.

She must have mistaken his gaze for a glare, because she rolled her eyes and looked back to the couple. She smiled. "Yes, actually."

She consulted the notepaper in front of her. It was Nick's from the previous night, when he had visited Ryan Walsh at home. "Mr. Walsh told Nick that he and the boys saw you with your son at the park Saturday night. He said that Nathaniel asked if he could stay the night at your house."

"Yes." Judy cast a glance at her husband. "Spencer asked us if Nate could spend the night, and we said it was fine."

"So Nathaniel came home with you?" Nick asked.

Judy fixed him with a look. There was something about her eyes that made him nervous.

Mike answered the question. "He did, but after a little while he felt sick, and asked if he could go home."

"I called Ryan, and we decided to meet back at the park, because it's halfway between our houses." Judy never took her eyes away from Nick's.

"And you left Nathaniel with his father?" Catherine asked. There was confusion in her voice, and Nick was feeling a bit confused himself. Whose story was true?

"Yes," Judy said. She finally turned her gaze to Catherine. "Didn't Ryan tell you?"

"No, actually," Nick said. "He said that Nathaniel wasn't going to be home until Sunday."

Mike shook his head. "Weird." He made a show of stretching his arms and checking his watch. "Is that going to be enough for now? I really need to be getting to work."

"Yes," Catherine said, looking over her notes. "I think that'll do for now." She stood and extended her hand. "Thank you for your time."

She shook both the Millers' hands and Brass and lastly Nick followed suit.

"Thank you," he said.

Mike looked hard at him. "We just want to help Ryan," he said.

"You will," Brass spoke up. "You've both been very helpful."

Brass walked with the couple out of the room, and Nick was left alone with Catherine. He could sense the lecture building in her mind before she opened her mouth and preempted it.

"Look, Cath," he said. "I know you wanna yell at me, and that's fine. But Grissom put me on this case, and I intend on keeping up with every lead."

"That's fine, Nick." He could tell from her tone that she was pissed. "But Grissom's not here right now. He put me in charge, not you, and so you will do what I ask you to. And if I ask you to sit in on an interview, you do it. If I tell you not to sit in on an interview, you don't do it."

With that, she left the room, taking care to slam the door.

Nick stood for a moment in the middle of the room, collecting his thoughts. They now had two versions of the night's events, and they couldn't both be true. Nick had had a funny feeling about Ryan Walsh from the start.

Nick sighed. Maybe Catherine was right, and he should have listened to her. But, if he had, then the cup sitting on the table with both of the Millers' DNA and fingerprints might have been overlooked.

Pleased with himself, Nick dug into his pocket for a latex glove.

* * *

Sara let Detective Vartann escort Ryan Walsh out of the building. She was feeling very tense at the moment, and didn't feel like rushing back into the crammed halls of the station. She stayed behind in the interrogation room for a few extra minutes, getting her head on straight. Sara closed her eyes and rolled her neck, feeling some of the stress leave her as a stubborn muscle popped.

She opened her eyes and sighed. _Guess I can't stay in here all day,_ she thought. She headed for the door and had just reached it when her eyes caught sight of Nick walking quickly down the hall.

"What in the hell has gotten into him?" she asked out loud.

Remembering that Nick had been her ride to the station, Sara hurried down the hall after him. "Nick!" she called.

Nick stopped and turned at the sound of his name. He saw Sara coming and motioned for her to hurry. "Sara, good, I was just looking for you."

_What?_ Sara hadn't left the room since Nick had left, and it wasn't like he would have forgotten what room they were in. She let it slide. Nick was just being weird.

"Walsh still here?"

"Uh, no, he just left. Why?"

Nick didn't answer her, just let loose a frustrated sigh and continued down the hall.

Sara caught up to him and they headed out to the parking lot. "Where'd you go?" Sara asked.

"Catherine was questioning the Millers," was the short reply.

"And so you just left me in there?" she asked incredulously.

Nick just gave her a look that said 'Yeah…so?' He looked excited about something, so Sara bit.

"Why are we rushing? Did you guys find something out?"

Nick smiled at her. "No, _we_ did." He bumped her with his elbow, friendly this time, not at all like the jab she had given him during the interview.

Sara was confused. "We _were_ in the same interview, right? We didn't really find out anything that we didn't already know. Except that Walsh didn't know that the boys aren't his."

"Ah, he told us more than that." Nick hit the button to unlock the doors and they jumped into the SUV. Nick stuck the keys in the ignition. His eyes had that sparkle back in them for the first time in two days. "He told us that he suspected that his wife was having an affair."

"And?"

"Gives him motive for her murder."

Sara stared back at him. "What…murder? There was another murder?"

Nick grinned and hit the gas. Sara hastened to fasten her seat belt, remembering Nick's tendency toward a lead foot.

"Walsh said that his wife died three years ago. Mike and Judy Miller said that it was some kind of accident. She slipped on a toy and hit her head."

Sara shrugged, watching the trees on the side of the road fly by. "It happens, Nick."

Nick shook his head. "Nah, I don't buy it. I wanna take a look at the house."

"Our case isn't about the wife." Personally, Sara didn't think the man was capable of murder.

Nick glanced at her but mostly kept his eyes on the road. "If a man would kill his wife, it's not that a big a stretch to kill his kid."

Sara just sighed. She wasn't going to get anywhere with him. She tried the only thing she had left in her arsenal: logic. "You're not going to get a warrant," she said. "You've got no evidence to suggest that Walsh killed his wife. Or his son, for that matter."

"We've got two stories that don't match."

Sara listened intently as Nick filled her in on everything that had been said during the interview with the Millers.

"Okay," she admitted. "So somebody's lying. What makes you think it's the dad?"

Nick stared ahead. "Just a hunch."

* * *

Jim was on the phone. Again. He didn't remember _that_ being in the waiver when he joined the force. Might be killed in the course of duty and might spend many pointless hours on the phone arguing with hot-headed CSIs. Not that Brass didn't think Nick might be on to something; the kid was bright. Jim often found himself realizing he thought a lot more like Nick Stokes then Gil Grissom. Grissom was driven by evidence and facts, situations when he couldn't be told he was wrong. Jim liked to work with people. He found that he could read them well, probably why he was so much better as a homicide detective than he had ever been at the crime lab. The evidence didn't speak to him like it did to Gil…people did.

"Nick, I hear you, really, I do." Jim started absentmindedly straightening things on his overly cluttered desk.

_"Jim, I've talked to this guy twice now, and I really think that this something that we should look into."_

"Then why are you talking to me? Shouldn't you go to Catherine with something like this?"

There was a pause. "_I'm kinda on her shit-list right now."_

Jim chuckled, and Nick seemed to take that as some kind of encouragement.

_"Could you just try and get the warrant for me?"_

Jim felt his hard cop-exterior fading fast. Nick could always get to him. And the fact that they had almost lost the kid last year didn't ever hurt his chances of getting something out of the detective, either. "What do you have?" he asked.

_"Yes."_ Nick made the comment under his breath, but Jim still heard it. "_Um…well, there's my hunch." _ He sounded like he actually thought that Jim would try and get a warrant on a hunch from the great Nick Stokes.

"Shit, Nicky," Jim laughed. "You better have more than that."

_"Okay, okay. Walsh told us that he suspected his wife was having an affair, and then she had an accident."_

Jim waited. "That it?"

_"Yeah."_

"Look, Nick. I'll see what I can do, but you've got to be realistic. It's not much to go on." Jim made a note on his notepad.

_"I'm not asking to exhume the body or anything. I just wanna have a look around the house."_

"I know, I know. I'll call the judge and get back to you."

_"Thanks, man."_

Jim hung up the phone and stared at it. Two warrants in two days…for the same man. It if happened, he was either the luckiest or the best cop in the state.

* * *

"Man, how in the hell did you get this warrant?" Warrick shook his head as Nick sauntered into the break room, waving a familiar-looking piece of paper.

"I've got my connections," he said with a smile.

Warrick snorted. "Yeah, and they're the same as mine." He grabbed the paper out of Nick's hand and looked it over. It seemed that Catherine had let Nick off of the hook for that morning after he showed up with the warrant, and was going to let him head over to the house instead of taking it herself.

"You'd better be nice, or you can't come with me." Nick took a Coke out of the fridge and drained half of it in one gulp.

"Cath's letting me out of the lab? Sweet action," Warrick said. He'd been hanging around all morning, and was very, very bored. It was a slow crime day, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, just meant there wasn't a whole hell of a lot for him to do.

"Yeah, well, I think she's actually hoping I don't find anything and end up embarrassing myself. She's not really with me on chasing the dad."

Warrick raised his eyebrows. "I don't think anyone is, from what I hear."

Nick's eyes narrowed. "It's worth a shot," he grumbled.

Warrick held up his hands is mock-surrender. "Hey, man, I'm not saying it's not a good lead. It's not like there's anyone jumping out yelling 'I did it!'"

Nick laughed and chugged down the rest of his drink, and Warrick had a feeling that it had just been his friend's breakfast and lunch.

"Ready?" Warrick asked. He was itching for some action, even if it was only of the crime-scene processing kind.

Nick nodded and grabbed his hat from the table. "Let's go, boss. I'm driving."

"In your dreams."

The look on Ryan Walsh's face when he saw Nick standing on his doorstep was priceless. He was clearly surprised to be seeing the CSI three times in two days, and annoyed at two of them being that day. The man was dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, and Nick found himself wondering if the man had a job. He always seemed to be home.

"What now?" Walsh asked coldly. He suspiciously eyed Warrick's tall form. "Another one? How many of you are there?"

"As many as it takes, Mr. Walsh," Nick said coolly.

Warrick held out the warrant. Walsh took it and scanned it. "You want to see my kitchen?" he asked with a puzzled expression.

"Yes, sir." Nick removed his sunglasses. "We're going to have to ask you to step outside here with this officer."

"Is this about Nate?" the man asked, stepping outside to let the CSIs pass.

Warrick turned around and assessed the man, while Nick spoke. "It might be." He craned his neck to look down the hall. "Is the kitchen in the back?"

"Yes." Walsh still looked puzzled.

"Thanks," Nick said, shutting the door.

Warrick shook his head with a small laugh. "That guy really doesn't like you."

"No, he really doesn't." Nick gestured down the hall. "Shall we?"

Warrick hefted his kit. "We shall. Do you have any idea what you're looking for?"

Nick looked at him but didn't respond. Truth be told, he really didn't know what he was looking for. He just had a feeling that Eileen Walsh's death wasn't completely on the up and up. He'd looked over the police report. Like so many other tragic accidents that happened around the house, it had been ruled an accidental death, nothing criminal, CSIs had never looked over the scene, and all went back to normal.

Nick wasn't buying the whole slipped-on-a-toy-that-was-conviently-laying-in-a-perfect-spot-on-the-floor-in-relation-to-the-edge-of-the-counter story. He walked to where the carpet of the hall met the hardwood flooring of the kitchen and surveyed the room. It was a fairly small kitchen, and the island counter in the center made it feel cluttered. He frowned, studying the granite countertop. There was also a long counter running along the wall the length of the room, and both appeared to have very hard edges and corners. The counters were nice…marbled granite surfaces and dark wood sides to match the floor.

There was a door on the wall to Nick's left, presumably leading to the backyard, and apparently the door Eileen had been coming in when she'd slipped. There was another door on the wall running parallel to where the CSIs were standing.

"You planning on processing anything today?" Warrick asked. Nick jumped a little and looked over at him, embarrassed. He'd always startled easily at crime scenes.

He gave Warrick a lop-sided grin. "What are _you _waiting for?"

"You're the one running this show. I'm just backing you up, man."

"You just don't wanna have to take any crap from Catherine," Nick teased.

"Amen to that." Warrick gestured into the room. "After you."

They got to work. Not that there was an excessive amount of work to do. Nick got out his bottle of luminol and sprayed the floor and counter. It was a long-shot…three years had gone by. Warrick drew the shade on the backdoor and they waited a moment, staring at the floor. Nothing.

Nick crouched to study the clear drops on the floor. He'd really wanted to see the way the blood had behaved after Eileen's fall. The police report hadn't even included pictures of the scene, just the body. He chewed on his lip, and then he remembered something, shuddering involuntarily.

When he and Grissom had worked the Faye Green case years a few years ago they'd come up against the same problem. The luminol hadn't illuminated the blood on the wood floors…but the ALS did.

"Hey, Warrick, you mind running out to the truck and grabbing the ALS?"

He heard Warrick sigh. "Nick, man, there ain't nothing there."

Nick rolled his eyes. "Humor me, will ya?"

Warrick huffed but Nick heard him leave the room. He stood and walked the length of the kitchen. He stood in front of the backdoor and looked into the room.

"Okay," he said out loud, to himself. "I'm walking in through the back door." He took a step into the room. "I slip on a toy, and I," Nick looked to his left, to the counter. He was really looking more straight ahead than to the left, "fall against the counter."

But the counter wasn't really that close, but further into the room. If there _was_ blood on the counter, then it was likely that Eileen had been coming down the hall when she slipped, not in from the backdoor.

The plain wooden door to his right drew his attention, and Nick opened it. The door opened to the left, into the room, which Nick thought was a little weird. He wasn't an authority on doors or anything; it was just one of those weird things that people sometimes take notice of. A narrow set of steps was visible, probably leading to the basement.

Nick heard footsteps in the kitchen behind him, and started to tell Warrick to point the ALS at the counter. Before he got the words out, a pair of hands planted themselves firmly on Nick's back and pushed.

He had no time to react, but it seemed his body was more prepared for the unexpected push than his mind was. In fact, his brain didn't seem to be working at all. His right foot held fast, his ankle wrenching painfully as he overbalanced. He flailed his arms, trying to keep some semblance of balance and stop himself from falling down the narrow wooden steps. He failed.

Nick's heart raced wildly as he reached out for the railing. His fingertips grazed it as he started to fall; just another couple of inches and he would have been able to get a firm grip and halt his descent before it began. Nick braced himself for an impact as best he could.

He hit the steps on his side and all the air was knocked out of him. His head connected with the edge of a step, accompanied by a flash of brilliant white. Everything went black before he rolled to a stop on the cool concrete floor.

* * *

Warrick pulled the ALS from the back of the truck, pausing as he straightened. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something didn't seem right. He had a creepy feeling, like getting a chill. His grandmother used to say a chill meant a ghost had walked through you. Well, something had certainly just walked through Warrick.

He turned back to the house. On the front stoop were the LVPD officer and Ryan Walsh. The latter was sitting on the step, staring at Warrick.

Warrick squinted. Everything seemed to be fine. Through the front window, Warrick could see the shadow of someone moving through the house. Wondering what Nick was up to, and why he was so intent on finding the old blood stains, Warrick headed back into the house. It had been quiet since they got there, but now the silence seemed to hang, the air feeling thick.

"Man, you've just been around too many crime scenes," he chided himself under his breath. He didn't want to let Nick see him freak out over nothing. He walked into the Walsh's tidy kitchen. "Hey, Nick…"

Warrick's heart picked up involuntarily as he faced an empty room. His friend was most likely just having a look around the house, nothing to get worked up about. Lightning didn't strike twice.

Warrick set the light machine down and peered around the corner, into the small dining room. "Nick?"

The eerie silence fell on Warrick again. He could hear the two men chatting from outside the house, but they seemed far away now. Warrick could feel it in his gut now, like a solid rock sitting in his stomach…something was not right.

"Nick, man, talk to me." Warrick didn't care if he was starting to sound panicked. If Nick was in the other room, and just for some reason or another couldn't hear him, Warrick would take the jokes his friend would make about freaking out over nothing. There was no such thing as overreacting, not anymore.

Warrick turned back to the kitchen, where their two field kits sat open. His eye caught a door in the wall, slightly ajar. He'd noticed it when they first entered the room, writing it off as a pantry. Maybe it led a basement or garage door, and Nick was poking around in there. Slightly more put at ease at a probable reason for the lack of response from his friend, Warrick made his way to the door.

He frowned as he stepped past Nick's kit, a flashlight visible inside. If Nick _had_ gone off to another part of the house, he would have brought it. They always had their flashlights on them at a scene, even if it was high noon and broad daylight. And especially if he had gone into a basement, as Nick was understandably not a huge fan of either the dark or underground lately.

Warrick pulled open the door, one hand reaching for his gun. He wasn't sure why; reflex, maybe. A patch of light from the kitchen fell down the basement steps, and Warrick gasped when the light fell across Nick, sprawled on the floor at the bottom of the stairs.

Fighting his initial instinct to run down to his friend, to make the same mistake twice, Warrick ran back into the hall. "Callahan! We need to get back up and paramedics here _now!_"

The front door opened, and the officer started to step in. "What – "

"Just do it! Secure the scene." Warrick yelled and darted back into the kitchen. He ran down the stairs, two and maybe three at a time, and jumped down next to his friend.

Nick was unconscious, and it was no wonder when Warrick saw the wound at his friend's temple. Blood was already matting his short hair.

Warrick gently moved Nick's head and laid it flat on the floor, keeping his spine aligned. He looked up the steep steps. "God, Nick. What happened to you now?"

He was furious with himself. He'd done it again. Left Nick alone in a suspect's house while he went outside. Maybe it was something more than his stubbornness that had made him argue with Nick, telling him that the ALS wouldn't work. Something inside of him knew that something wasn't right, and he'd ignored it, and the man had been left without eyes on him.

Warrick swore and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He heard footsteps, and Officer Callahan came into view at the top of the stairs, gun in hand.

His eyes widened when he saw them. Then he went into cop-mode, moving slowly down the stairs. "Warrick, I have to secure the room. You shouldn't be down here."

Warrick glanced around him. He could barely make out the outline of a couch, and a few shelves, but nothing had made noise since he'd run down the stairs. The officer brushed past him and trained his gun on the dark room.

Warrick was growing increasingly impatient. Nick's head was bleeding heavily. "Where are the damned paramedics?" he demanded.

Callahan dropped his arms, apparently satisfied that they were alone in the room, and spoke into the radio at his shoulder. Warrick heard a response laced heavily with static, enough that he couldn't decipher the message.

Callahan turned to him. "Two minutes out."

Warrick swore again. He fought back the tears threatening to blind him. He couldn't believe something like this had happened again. He watched the blood running down the side of Nick's face and didn't look up until he heard sirens.

And then he got out his phone.

* * *

Greg was really and truly _done_ with working the DNA lab. Over the last year or so, while he was just trying to make it one night at a time in the field, he'd sometimes found himself missing the calm of the lab. Not to mention the air conditioning. It got so freaking hot outside, especially in the desert. And the Vegas area had plenty of desert.

Greg had only been working the lab for the past two nights, and he was already ready to call it quits. _How did I ever keep all of this straight?_ he wondered, staring wide-eyed at the rows of test tubes, heaps of swabs, and stacks of papers spread out before him.

He was waiting for Saint Mia, his salvation. Ecklie said that she hadn't called in that morning, so he was assuming she was coming in. If she did, Greg wouldn't put it past himself to break out into song and dance, right in the middle of the crime lab. And buy her some kind of care package…full of anything and everything to keep her from ever getting sick again.

Greg glanced anxiously at the time bar in the lower right-hand corner of the computer screen. And then at his watch. And then at the analog clock hanging in the hall, frustrated with the time. If she was coming in, Mia wouldn't be due in until at least four.

_Maybe she's feeling ambitious today,_ Greg thought hopefully. Even if he couldn't get the rest of the night off, he would at least love to be doing some field work right now.

He sat for a minute, and then looked at the clock again. His eyelids started to droop.

"You look like you need a nap," came a friendly voice.

Greg looked up at Sara as she pushed open the door, a paper coffee cup in one hand and a file folder in the other. He smiled and nodded slowly. "That would be nice."

Sara set her cup down on the counter and leaned against it, propping her head up in her hand. "Yeah, I think I'm gonna sleep for a whole day after we close this case."

"I thought you didn't sleep," Greg teased.

Sara huffed and gave him a small push.

Greg laughed. "You here to check on your swabs?"

"Yeah."

"Let me see here." Greg spun in his chair, randomly grabbing papers from the desktop. He held one up. "Is this yours?"

Sara glared.

"I'm just kidding, I have it right here." He picked up a file that he'd set aside earlier.

She opened the folder and bit her lip as she flipped through the pages. "Which swab was this?"

Greg leaned up to look over the top of the file at the page she was on. He read, upside-down and backwards, that the paper declared _Positive DNA. Female. Unknown_. "Ah…the one you took from the inside of his collar. It's the only one I got a good sample from. There were a few other swabs with epithelials, but not enough to pull DNA."

Sara was nodding as she listened. "Thanks, Greg." She turned to leave without looking up.

"No problem. If you see Nick, tell him I'm trying to get to that cup he dropped off, but I'm pretty backed up."

"Sure. And Greg…Mia's gonna kill you." She started down the hall.

"Huh?" Greg looked around the small, cluttered space. "Why?"

"_What_ in the hell did you do to my lab?"

Greg looked up at the new voice and smiled his biggest smile for Mia, who, although looking somewhat paler than normal, looked pissed. She surveyed the small lab, her mouth open.

"I redecorated," Greg said cheerfully.

"You destroyed," she said, frowning at the desk, which could hardly be seen underneath the folders, loose papers, and evidence strewn on top of it. "It's a good thing I came in early." She crouched and started to pick papers up from the floor.

Greg bent down to help her. "I'm sorry, Mia. It's been a really weird couple of days…"

Mia held up one of her science journals. A half-eaten candy bar was melted and stuck to the cover.

Greg cringed. He'd forgotten about his snack.

"Leave. Now," Mia gritted.

Greg hastily stood. "Have a good night." And he practically ran out of the lab.

* * *

Sara was on her way into the mini-conference room, and laughed as Greg rushed past her. As soon as he realized, he slowed to a stop until she caught up and walked alongside her.

He stared at her intently. "You knew Mia was coming. You could have warned me." It wasn't a question, it was an accusation.

Sara gave him an innocent look. "I thought I did."

Greg sighed. "I honestly don't care. I am just happy to be out of there." He looked back.

Sara followed his gaze and laughed. Mia appeared to be talking to herself, making wide, dramatic gestures as she stomped around her small lab, repairing all the damage Greg had managed to do in two days' time.

Sara turned back to Greg, holding out her file. "You wanna help with the case?"

Greg looked longingly to the comfy couch in the break room as they passed it. He sighed. "Sure."

They continued to the conference room, where Catherine stood surveying a spread of evidence. She looked up over the top of her reading glasses. "You get anything from your swabs?"

"Yeah," Sara handed the file to Catherine. "Greg pulled some female DNA from Nathaniel's jacket collar."

Catherine looked up sharply.

Sara held out her hands. "Nothing like that. Just skin cells." She crossed her arms.

Catherine took off her glasses and shook her hair. She put a hand on her hip. "Well, we know that Nathaniel was with Judy Miller at some time during the night. It's probably hers. I just wish we knew what actually happened. All we have is a ton of circumstantial evidence that we can't say suggests anything criminal." Catherine rubbed her eyes.

Greg said something about getting coffee, and walked out slowly, shooting glances back at them.

Catherine rolled her eyes. "For the love of God, Greg. We don't care where your coffee is!"

Greg looked embarrassed for a second, and then he disappeared.

Catherine sat back down in her chair and ran a hand through her hair. She replaced her glasses and reopened the file that Sara had brought in with her. Sara sank into a chair across from her. She wasn't entirely sure what to say. Things had been very tense between them all day. And for the past few days.

"Look, Catherine," Sara started, staring at her hands.

The other woman pulled off her glasses again and sighed.

"Don't do that," Sara said, surprised at her own tone, but she had really hit her limit. Catherine looked taken aback. "I'm sorry. Actually, I'm not sorry. Maybe the reason that we haven't been getting anywhere with this case is because we're all too busy being pissed at each other."

"I'm not _pissed_ at you, Sara. I'm just disappointed in how unprofessional you've been the past couple of days."

"Unprofessional? I'm doing my job to the best of my abilities, Catherine."

Catherine smiled. "If that's true, Sara, then we really do have a problem."

Sara just stared at her.

Catherine sighed and looked away. "I didn't mean that. I don't want to make excuses, but we've all been edgy, and I think it's starting to affect our work."

"I think you're right," Sara answered coolly.

"Maybe we shouldn't all be working on this case."

Sara wasn't expecting that. If Catherine was thinking about taking her off of the case, if that was what she was about to say…Sara would be on the phone with Grissom within ten minutes. That wasn't fair, and it definitely wasn't the way to solve this little boy's murder.

"Sara," Catherine started, but was cut off by the shrill ring of her cell phone. She looked at the screen before she answered. "Hey, Warrick. How's it look at the…" A horrified expression came over Catherine's features.

Sara sat forward, her heart instantly dropping to the pit of her stomach.

"Oh my God. What...where are they taking him?"

That sure got Sara's attention. "What?" Her voice shook.

"We'll be there. No, I'll call him." Catherine snapped her phone shut and looked at Sara, her mouth open in a shocked expression.

"Catherine, what happened?" Sara was starting to feel very nervous.

"It's Nick."

After last summer, those two simple words were enough to induce a kind of panic in Sara like she had never felt before.

* * *

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

_Part Three_

Warrick hated waiting, but no matter how many doctors he managed to track down, they all told him the same thing: wait. So he did. It was still mid-afternoon, but Warrick felt utterly and completely exhausted. He nursed his cup of coffee, his third since arriving at the hospital. It gave him something to do.

Warrick surveyed the crowded halls, looking for a doctor that he hadn't had the chance to annoy yet. Two of them suddenly appeared from around a corner and came rushing down the hall.

"…Too early to know the full extent of…" one was speaking quietly but urgently to the other.

Warrick followed them with his eyes, but when they came to the 'T' in the hall, they went in the opposite direction from where Warrick had watched them bring Nick.

Warrick let out a deep breath and leaned back in his chair until the back of his head rested against the wall. He closed his eyes, and didn't realize that he had fallen asleep until a hand on his shoulder woke him abruptly. He opened his eyes and found himself looking at Catherine, leaning over him. Her eyes were wide as dinner plates, her face pale. Behind her, Warrick could see Greg and Sara fidgeting anxiously.

Warrick sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Sorry, I must have dozed off for a minute."

Catherine looked back at him with a small smile, obviously forced, and she rubbed his shoulder. Her mouth may have smiled, but her eyes were serious. "What happened?" she asked.

At the same moment Sara demanded, "Where's Nick."

Warrick focused on Sara first. "He's not awake yet. I haven't seen him."

She nodded and looked away, and Warrick could see tears in her eyes. He turned next to Catherine, but couldn't get his mouth to form the words to answer her question.

"What in the hell happened, Warrick?" she asked again, more demanding this time.

Warrick shook his head and forced himself to speak. "I don't know. I went out to the truck to get the ALS, and when I came back into the house, I found him at the bottom of the basement stairs."

Sara sank heavily into the chair next to Warrick, but Greg stood stiffly at the wall across from them, hands in his pockets, staring at his feet.

"You went out to the truck?" Catherine took her hand off of his shoulder.

Startled, Warrick looked up at her. "Just for a second, Cath, I swear. Nick asked me to get it, and I was only gone for a second…" Warrick didn't care if he was repeating himself, he didn't care if it sounded like he was making excuses. The only thing he cared about was his friend.

Greg spoke up. "I'm not saying Nick's middle name is Grace or anything, but do you really think that he just _fell_ down a flight of stairs?"

Warrick shook his head again. Firmly. "No. I don't."

"You think Nick was onto something?" Sara was sitting rigidly in her chair, her back straight and tense.

Catherine crossed her arms. "And someone, what, pushed him down a flight of stairs?" she asked incredulously. "He wasn't doing anything different from the rest of us."

"He was alone." Warrick was furious with himself. He stared at the floor, unable to bring himself to look any of them in the eye. The other CSIs stared at each other for a few silent moments.

"He did think that there was something off about the dad, right?" Greg asked tentatively.

Both of the women stared down at Warrick, who disappointed them with a shake of his head. "He was out front with Callahan the whole time." Their shoulders sagged.

The small group fell quiet again. A sharp cracking sound perked everyone's ears, and their heads whipped around to face Greg, who stopped popping his knuckles and looked back at them, wide-eyed.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I don't do tension very well."

Catherine put a hand on his arm. "It's okay. Neither do I."

Greg cleared his throat. "I think I'm gonna go find some coffee. You want?"

Warrick raised his half-full cup in reply, while both Sara and Catherine declined. It took Greg a moment to move, but then he shuffled slowly down the corridor.

Warrick thought of something, and brushed Catherine's hand. "Cath."

He was surprised when she withdrew it from his touch quickly. "Yeah?" she answered, playing it off like she was flexing her fingers.

Warrick didn't have the space in his head to worry about that right now, so he didn't. "Did you call Grissom?"

"Oh, no, I didn't. I will." She didn't move to get to her phone.

"Cath?"

She pulled at the ends of her hair. "Well, I'm not going to call him until we know something. I don't want him to spend the rest of his trip worrying."

"He'll just be mad that we didn't call him right away," Sara said hollowly.

"She's right, Cath." Warrick reached for his phone.

Catherine sighed. "Okay, okay. I'll do it." She went for her own cell phone, but before she could punch in Grissom's number, a doctor approached them, holding a file.

"Excuse me, are you waiting for information on Nick Stokes?" the doctor asked, smiling kindly at them from behind dark-rimmed glasses.

"Yes," the three of them responded in unison. Warrick and Sara stood.

"Is he okay?" Sara asked.

The doctor continued smiling. _Oh, no, _Warrick thought.

"I'm Doctor Lowell. I've been monitoring Mr. Stokes since he was brought in. He's… doing well." The doctor looked down at his file, presumably Nick's.

"What does 'well' mean exactly?" Catherine asked. Warrick detected a note of desperation in her voice that he hadn't heard until now. Catherine's game face was fading fast.

Doctor Lowell flipped a page. His expression was neutral…unreadable. "Well, the good news is that the only real damage was a concussion, but it was pretty severe. He's not awake yet…but hopefully will be soon."

Warrick, Sara, and Catherine all held their breath as the doctor consulted his chart.

"He's also got a sprained ankle and a few ribs that are either cracked or severely bruised."

Warrick rubbed the back of his neck. "Can we see him?"

Sara and Catherine looked eagerly at the doctor.

He nodded. "Sure."

The sound of rushing footsteps drew their attention, and Warrick turned around just in time to see Greg skid to halt beside Catherine, sloshing a bit coffee onto the front of his shirt.

"I saw the doctor can we see Nick yet how is he is he okay?" Greg said a rush. He turned to Doctor Lowell. "Is he okay?" he repeated.

It was Greg's turn to get the doctor's generic kind smile. "We're going in to see him now."

Greg nodded. "Okay." He looked down at his dripping coffee cup and the stain on his shirt, embarrassed.

Doctor Lowell led the way down the hall, Warrick and Catherine right on his heels.

"It's okay," Warrick heard Sara say to Greg, who mumbled something back that he didn't catch.

The group paused at a door, and Doctor Lowell grabbed the handle. "Now," he said, turning to face the anxious CSIs. "I can only allow two of you in at a time."

"But isn't he asleep?" Sara asked, obviously not wanting to wait any longer.

"Yes, but I'd still like to keep the environment of the room as quiet and calm as possible. We don't want to overwhelm him if he wakes up."

The four looked around at each other, none of them waiting to have to sit out in the hall any longer.

Catherine looked around at her colleagues. "You guys go ahead," she said to Warrick and Sara, who must have appeared the most upset. Catherine swallowed. "I need to call Gil anyways, right?"

She pulled her phone off of its clip on her belt and smiled at the doctor, but Warrick could see that her eyes where shining. "Excuse me." She hurried down the hall back towards the chairs where they'd been.

Greg watched her leave. "It's cool, really. You guys go in." He thanked the doctor and retreated in the same direction as Catherine.

Warrick watched them both leave, and frowned at the pang inside of him that wanted to follow Catherine. Doctor Lowell opened the door, and the pang disappeared quickly as it was suddenly overcome with the need to see that his friend was okay.

* * *

_Beep_.

Something was beeping, or ringing. Or possibly buzzing…Nick wasn't quite sure. Everything sounded the same…a kind of dull hum. With the occasional beep. It was a weird way to wake up, like he had cotton in his ears or something.

_Beep_.

His ears weren't the only things that felt strange. His eyelids were heavy, and when he tried to open them, the skin on the left side his face pulled. Like it was tight.

_Beep_.

His right ankle felt huge. And foreign, like it didn't belong on his leg.

_Beep_.

Breathing was interesting, too. Slow, or else it hurt too much to even bother. His left side was achy and tight…in an appealingly numb kind of way.

_Beep_.

He didn't know what was going on, but something was obviously wrong with him. Nobody liked waking up, and Nick had sure had his share of slow mornings, but never anything like this. His body was fighting him, telling him not to move, or breathe, or even think.

_Beep_.

Just thinking was hurting his head, which felt very big and, strangely, not heavy, but light. Like it was detached from the rest of his body, which felt as weighted down as if his blood had been replaced with liquid lead.

_Beep_.

He was tired…really, really tired. Which was odd, because he felt like he'd slept for a week. Maybe he'd just slept too much, and once he got up and going, he'd be fine.

_Beep_.

Up. There was the hard part. _Let's just start with the eyes_, he decided.

He managed to get one, he wasn't sure which, to open just a crack, but shut it immediately, hissing. Hey, there was a start…sound. Maybe if it wasn't so damned bright, he could get his eyes to work, too.

_Beep_.

Nick thought he heard his name. But it was far away, and muffled. Like the speaker had the same cotton in his, or maybe her, mouth that he had in his ears.

He wanted to answer. _What's wrong with me?_ he wanted to ask. Scream, actually. He was starting to panic. It was dark, and he was cold. There was something lying along his arm, thought he wasn't quite sure yet if it was the right or left. It felt like a snake, a small one, but a snake nonetheless, and he wanted to shake it off but couldn't get his arm to move.

_Beep_.

What the hell was that? Alarm? Phone? It was new…but vaguely familiar.

_Beep._

That was it. The last straw. The last fricking beep. _Time to get up_.

Nick managed to get one eye, it felt like the right one, to open about half-way. It wasn't as bright as he'd thought, and that made sense, because he didn't figure he'd go to sleep with the light on. It wasn't completely dark, though, just dim. He must have left a light on the kitchen or something. Weird. He wasn't one to do things like that.

There were shapes in the room, and not the shapes he was expecting. His dresser, sure. A person, definitely not. Two people, even more wrong.

Nick was even more disoriented with his eye open than he'd been before. The left one decided that it wanted to open, too, and it did, straining and pulling his skin. And for the first time, the numbness gave way to a sharp flash of pain. It seemed to tear through his head, straight across, setting his brain on fire.

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, the pulling of his skin now nothing compared to the pain ripping apart the inside of his head.

There was a faint pressure on his arm, something gripping his hand. Nick wanted to pull away, but that would take too much effort, so he allowed the foreign object to remain on his arm.

He felt his fingers tense, and he heard his name again. Closer, this time. And he could make out a voice. It was familiar. Male. _Warrick._

_Okay, just open your eyes, and stop acting like a baby. _The pain in his head subsided to a dull throb, so he figured it was safe to try to open his eyes again, and it was much easier this time.

_Eyes are a go_, Nick thought. They seemed to be staying open okay, too. Not entirely in focus, but one step at a time. He tried to look down at his arm…at the snake and the other thing that was touching him, but it increased the throb, so he gave up, and settled with looking straight ahead. Which seemed to be up, actually. He could make out the patterned tile surface of a ceiling, and not his. One he'd seen before, though.

_Hospital. _It hit him hard. That's where he was. That's why it didn't feel like his bedroom. It wasn't. It was worse.

_What in the hell? _ Well, something was wrong with his head; that much was obvious. This was not how his head usually felt. He wanted to sit up, so he could know just exactly what in the hell was going on.

_Warrick! _Warrick was there.

"Warrick," Nick didn't know if he actually succeeded in getting the words to come out or if he just thought them, but after a moment, he was pretty sure that he had managed to speak. One of the shapes drew closer, and he stared at it until he could make out Warrick's features.

"Nick, man? You okay? Can you hear me?"

"Uh huh." Nick wanted to roll over. Not that he wasn't happy Warrick was there, but he was way too close, inside Nick's personal space bubble. And Nick's bubble had shrunken considerably over the past few months.

"What happened?" Okay, so talking was easier than he had thought it was going to be. Everything was still pretty muffled and fuzzy, though.

"We were hoping you could tell us." It was a different voice. But he still knew who it was. Sara, coming from the direction of the snake and his friend.

He lifted his head up…weird…and tried to focus on her. She looked sad, or worried, or both, and she was gripping his hand. Her hand was warm, which was okay because he felt really cold. He looked at the snake. _IV._

He took a moment and focused on what Sara had said. So, something _had_ happened. He was apparently supposed to tell them something…but wasn't sure what they were looking for. "Huh?"

That was not the answer Sara seemed to want. Nick saw her look over to where Warrick was, on the other side of him. Nick kind of wished they were both on the same side. It was going to get really annoying if he had to look back and forth between them.

"You don't know what happened?" That was Warrick. Great, he had to look over there again. Warrick didn't seem to be quite as concerned about this as Nick was. "Nick?" Warrick touched Nick's shoulder, and Nick dragged his eyes over to look at him.

Warrick's eyes were wide. "Do you know what happened?"

Nick shook his head. At least, he guessed that he did. That's what he was going for, and his skin pulled again, so he assumed there was some kind of movement going on.

This was also not what Warrick wanted. "Anything? Nick, do you remember anything about what happened? Do you know why you're here?"

Nick swallowed. His throat felt dry. "No. What happened?" He looked around from Warrick to Sara, both wearing the same expression. They were really, really worried.

Nick was, too.

* * *

_"You've reached Gil Grissom. Leave a message and I will get back to you when I get the chance."_

Catherine threw her head back and sighed. This was not how she wanted to tell Gil about what happened. She didn't want to be the one to tell him at all, actually. But it needed to be done, so she waited for the beep.

"Gil, it's Catherine. There's…been an accident." Catherine paused. "It's Nick. He's fine, really. I – I don't think it's anything too serious, and I don't want to get you worried. I'll try and call again later, or else just call me when you get this." She shut her phone and stared at it for a moment.

She heard a throat being cleared behind her, and she whirled around to face Greg. He'd followed her from Nick's room, and was standing against the wall, shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking just as uncomfortable as he had while they were waiting here before.

Catherine motioned to the chairs, and they sat, neither speaking. She looked over at Greg, maybe to take a stab at some bit of small talk, but he was staring down the hall, back the way they had just come from. She laid her head in her hand and shut her eyes.

"Catherine?"

"Hmm?"

"I want to be on the case."

Catherine opened her eyes and raised her head. "What are you talking about? I thought they needed you in the DNA lab."

Greg shook his head. "No, Mia came in this afternoon, and technically, it's my day off…but I want to help."

"Greg, I can't put the whole shift on one case. What if something else comes up?"

"Then move me when it comes up. But right now, I want to be on the case."

Catherine had never heard Greg so serious. She nodded. "Okay. But remember that you offered. If anything comes up, you're on it."

"Okay."

They waited.

"Solo?"

"What?" Catherine looked back at Greg, who had a small smile on his face.

"When…whatever comes up, am I solo?"

Catherine had to laugh. "Don't push it." She spotted Warrick moving towards them, and her laugh died away. Greg had done what he did best, killed the tension and lightened the mood, but Catherine was roughly jerked back into the seriousness of the situation. "That didn't take long," she said softly.

"Huh?" Greg turned to follow her gaze and stood quickly. "How was he…is he?" he amended quickly.

Warrick walked up to them and stopped. He sighed and put his hands on his hips, avoiding eye contact.

"Warrick," Catherine said. Warrick looked at her, and her heart sank at the look in his eyes. "What is it?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Warrick took a moment before he spoke. "He's awake."

Catherine breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, that's great. Can we see him?" She made a move to get up.

"Cath."

There was something in Warrick's voice that stopped her, halfway out of her chair. She sank back into the seat. "What's wrong?"

Warrick looked away. "He doesn't remember."

"What?" Greg asked.

"He doesn't remember," Warrick said again.

"No, what doesn't he remember?" Greg asked. Catherine just sat there.

Warrick looked away again. "He said he remembers coming into work yesterday, and bits of things that happened last night…but everything after that is just gone."

"So he doesn't know what happened to him?" Greg slowly sat down again.

"Doesn't look like it." Warrick stared at the floor. "The doctor said that it could all come back, but…"

"But what?" Greg asked anxiously, but Catherine could tell that he didn't want to hear the answer any more than she did.

"He hit his head pretty hard." Warrick pointed to his temple. "Stitches and everything. They want to give him another CAT scan…"

"Did you tell him?" Greg stared up at Warrick.

"Yeah."

There was more subtext to that one word than in some of the longwinded scientific journals that Catherine had in her office. She stood. "I want to see him."

Warrick nodded and gestured down the hall. "Sara's still in there, and his doctor might be, too."

Catherine looked down at Greg, asking him with her eyes if he wanted to come, too, but he shook his head.

"Go ahead. I think I just need to sit here a minute."

Catherine rubbed his shoulder, and then headed down the hall. She looked back at the corner and saw Warrick sit next Greg. Warrick patted Greg's leg, and for some reason, the image brought tears to her eyes. She quickly wiped them away and attempted to pull herself together. She didn't want to be falling apart when she saw Nick.

* * *

Nick stared at the ceiling. He could feel Sara watching him, but he couldn't look at her, because every time he did, she looked like she was going to cry, and he just couldn't deal with that right now. His brain was on overload as it was, and it didn't really feel like he could fit a whole lot in there anyways.

He was feeling very confused at the moment. There was a big hole in his consciousness, in the chain of recent events he could remember. Warrick had tried his best to fill in the gaps, and the doctor had explained the situation. Nick got the general gist…severe concussion, short-term memory loss, not uncommon, blah, blah, blah…he just wasn't really in the state of mind to try to focus on anything medical right now. He just felt like sleeping. Of course, his doctor had made sure to let him know that even that wasn't going to happen, as he would have to be woken up every hour. Standard procedure with the severity of his concussion. More blah, blah, blah.

If he couldn't sleep, then he at least wanted to sit up and feel like he wasn't helpless, but he knew that it would hurt more than it was worth at the moment. The doctor…Lowell?...had told him that he had a few bruised and cracked ribs, and they hurt so much lying down, he didn't even want to think about how much it would hurt if he was sitting upright. Plus, he didn't know if his head could handle it.

Nick heard the door to the room open, and saw someone enter the room out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey," Catherine said quietly.

Nick didn't know if she was talking to him or Sara, but decided that even if it was directed towards him, he could play it off like he thought that she was talking to Sara. He really didn't feel like talking to anyone. The whole time Warrick had been talking to him, he'd felt so stupid, just lying there with no idea what was he was talking about. It was listening to someone describe a dream they had.

"Hey," Sara answered.

Score. Maybe he could close his eyes, and pretend he was asleep. Or better, actually fall asleep and get a whole hour where he didn't have to think about how much he hurt or trying to figure out what had happened.

It was a very strange feeling. To Nick, it still felt like it was the previous evening; he didn't know any better. But apparently, a lot had transpired since last night, Nick just couldn't remember it. The last thing he could really remember, and it took quite a bit of effort, was his visit to Ryan Walsh's house. And even that was only bits and pieces. Little flashes of pictures in his mind. Walsh standing in his doorway…a little boy peeking his head out of his room…it was all fuzzy around the edges.

Nick had lied to Warrick, told him he remembered more than he actually did. He didn't want his friends to worry about him. Not more than they already were, anyways.

Catherine's shadow drew closer, and Nick closed his eyes.

"Hey, Nick," she said soothingly.

He peeked his eyes open and looked to the left. She was leaning over him, uncomfortably close, and he swallowed. "Hey."

Catherine stroked his hair, and he could tell that she was being careful of the left side of his head, which was swollen and throbbed like crazy. He wanted to be annoyed, to tell her to stop babying him, that he was fine…but her touch was comforting, calming.

"How do you feel?"

"Not too bad, actually," Nick said. He raised his right arm just a touch, indicating the IV line. "This stuff they got me on is pretty nice."

Catherine smiled and sank into the chair that Warrick had pulled up to the edge of the bed. Sara was still on the other side, apparently. Keeping her distance, like always. It was fine; Nick was feeling crowded enough as it was.

Nick swallowed again. "So Warrick tells me I'm missing some stuff up here, huh?" He gave just the slightest jerk of his head, and even the small movement made him wince.

"Nick." Catherine leaned forward and touched his arm.

Nick wanted to yank it out of her reach, but he suddenly felt drained. So much so that he couldn't even move his arm. _Pathetic._ He felt his eyelids start to droop, and the pressure on his arm increased. His eyes flew open…too fast, and he winced again.

Catherine smiled apologetically. "Sorry, Nicky, but I don't think the doctors want you to fall asleep just yet."

Nick sighed and stared up at the ceiling. So what was he supposed to do? He couldn't sit up, he couldn't sleep…and he really didn't want to lie here all night and try to remember what had happened that day…it would hurt his head and drive him crazy.

A cell phone rang and Catherine took her hand off of Nick's arm. The ringing was quickly silenced. "Forgot to turn it off, better get it out of here before they kick me out."

There was more to the call; Nick could hear it in her voice. Otherwise, he was sure she would have just turned off of the phone.

Catherine leaned over and kissed the top of Nick's head. "I'll come by later on tonight, okay?"

Nick nodded, a single, painful bob of his head. Catherine said goodbye to Sara and he heard the door open and shut again.

The television was on. The volume was very, very low, but it was still on. Nick couldn't see it without craning his neck, which would hurt like hell, and he was pretty sure that Sara wasn't watching it. He didn't really know why it was on or who even turned it on, but it was background noise. It kept the room from being completely silent, and gave Nick something to focus on besides forcing himself to remember the events of the day.

Nick heard Sara move, and a second later, she came into his field of vision, lowering herself into the chair that Catherine had just vacated. He could feel her eyes on his face again, and he concentrated really hard on the ceiling, and trying to pick up what the TV was saying. News, maybe.

"It's weird, isn't it?"

Nick looked over at Sara. "What are you talking about?"

She shifted in her seat. "The whole memory loss thing."

Nick just stared at her.

"Yeah, I know. I mean, I _know_. The same thing happened to me when I was a kid. Well, not the same thing…"

Nick continued to stare at her, hoping she was going somewhere with this, because he really didn't want a pity party.

Sara tried again, a small smile on her lips. "I was in second grade. We had field day at school…do you remember those? Well, I got a bunch of ribbons. When I got home, I took a ride on my bike around the neighborhood. I hit a storm drain and flipped over my handle bars." Sara paused to make sure that Nick was listening to her. He was. "I still don't remember what I got the ribbons for."

Nick looked up at the ceiling. "You couldn't have just asked somebody?" he said with a small smile, his first since he had woken up.

Sara huffed and gave him a light slap on the arm. "That wasn't the point of the story."

"I know." Nick looked back over to her. "Thanks."

Sara smiled and acted like she was going to grab his hand or something, but pulled it back into her lap.

Nick's eyes were starting to feel very heavy again, and he allowed them to close. He listened for a few minutes to the faint sounds from the television, and drifted into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Catherine ended the call from Gil and leaned heavily against the wall. It hadn't exactly been an easy or pleasant call, just as she'd anticipated. He'd been worried, and then after being assured that Nick was going to be okay, he'd been angry. Said he was catching a flight back and he wanted both Catherine and Warrick in his office as soon as he arrived. Not exactly something she was looking forward to.

Catherine checked her watch. It was nearing evening, and she really needed to get back to the lab. She wanted to stay with Nick, but there was still a job to do. And now that job included finding out what had happened to him, and who was responsible.

Another shrill ring of her phone drew not only Catherine's attention, but the attention of several other people waiting in the area.

"Sorry," she mumbled as she whipped open the phone. "Willows," she answered, and started moving down the hall to a less populated area. "Hi, Jim. No, he's doing okay. Yeah, but…_what?_"

Catherine stopped right in front of where Warrick and Greg were still seated in chairs. Both stood and moved over to her.

"Cath, what is it?" Warrick asked.

Greg simply stared at her, wide-eyed.

Catherine listened to Brass for another minute, taking in what he was telling her. "Okay, Jim. No, no, I'll take it. We'll manage. I'm sure he'd like that." They said their goodbyes and Catherine shut her phone.

"Cath?" Warrick reached out and gently touched her elbow.

"That was Jim. PD just responded to a call. They've got a D.B. out in Henderson. At the home of Mike and Judy Miller."

* * *

Even though Nick was asleep, Sara was perfectly content staying in his room. She had a feeling that as soon as she went out into the hall with the others, they would want to talk about what had happened. Sara didn't want to talk, she just wanted to think. Nick's room was quiet; the only sounds were the faint volume of the television and the occasional beep coming from the machine dispensing Nick's pain medication.

Even though Catherine had told Nick he couldn't go to sleep, Sara didn't see any harm in it. Doctor Lowell hadn't told them not to let him sleep, just to let him know when and if he did, which Sara had done. She was expecting the doctor back in about forty minutes…plenty of time to sit in the calm and quiet room.

Well, quiet anyways.

Sara wasn't exactly in the calmest of moods, was very nearly pushed to her limit. Her stress levels had been through the roof for the past couple of days, and this was definitely not helping. She and Catherine were butting heads, and she wasn't entirely sure why, except that they both had a tendency to be extremely stubborn. Not to mention that without Grissom around, they were missing their buffer.

Then there was the case. A horrible murder of an innocent boy, with no evidence to work with.

And now this. It was driving Sara crazy not knowing what had happened to Nick. She was ninety-nine point nine percent sure that someone had done this to him. It didn't seem plausible that he had just tripped and fallen down that flight of stairs, but they needed proof. Part of Sara wanted to run right out to the house and look for some kind of evidence of the phantom pusher, but the other part just wanted to stay here, and pretend that there was nothing going outside of the room, and there was no one out there who would even think of hurting one of her friends ever again.

Nick's face was screwed up like he wasn't sleeping soundly, but Sara guessed that was to be expected. When he'd been awake, she'd wanted to yell at him. He was lying there, telling Catherine that he didn't feel too bad…and Sara knew that it was lie. Nick was always acting like there was nothing wrong him, when so much had happened to him. Catherine had believed him because she hadn't been in the room when Nick woke up. Sara had been taken aback by how young and helpless he'd seemed.

"What happened?" he'd asked them, sounding scared and lost.

Sara hadn't been prepared for one of the strongest people she'd ever known to sound like that. But she supposed it was a long time coming. Nick had been through a lot, more than she would have ever been able to handle. She'd had enough bad things happen in her life, but it seemed like nothing when she compared.

There was a knock at the door and Sara was roused from her thoughts. She glanced at her watch. _Has it been forty minutes already?_ It had been only fifteen. She turned around in her seat as the door opened and Catherine popped her head into the small room.

"Hey, Sara, how's he doing?"

Sara glanced at Nick. "Sleeping. He hasn't been for too long, though," she added, knowing how protective of him the other woman was bound to be feeling. She wanted to make sure that Catherine knew she wasn't disobeying doctor's orders.

Catherine nodded. "Did he seem okay?"

For some reason, Catherine didn't enter the room but stayed in the hall, just poking her upper body in through a narrow opening.

Sara shrugged. "I guess. I don't think he's quite as well as he'd like us to believe, but he will be." That last part was mostly for herself, but it worked for Catherine, too.

"He will be," she agreed. "Hey, I've got a crappy favor to ask. Do you mind taking a D.B.?"

"What? Now?" Catherine expected her to just forget about Nick and investigate a murder?

"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, but we're kind of tapped out. Especially with Nick out." A shadow fell over Catherine's face, and she looked at the ground. "It pertains to the case," she said.

"What does? The body?" Sara was confused.

"The vic is Judy Miller."

"Miller." Something clicked in Sara's mind. "Isn't that the woman that – "

"Yeah." Catherine looked out into the hall and down at her watch with the air of someone who was trying to hurry something unpleasant along, but Sara knew that she was just stressed out, and she could relate.

"Wow. Um, okay, that's a little unexpected." Sara turned her chair. It was getting an annoying having to look over her shoulder.

Catherine took the hint and cautiously stepped into the room, just as cautiously avoiding eye contact with Sara.

Sara sighed. "Catherine, I'm not mad at you, though I might have a reason to be. There are more important things going on."

Catherine seemed surprised by Sara's mini-outburst. "No, no…it's not that. I just can't…" She looked away. "I just can't see him like this. Not already." Catherine bit her lip.

Sara realized that it was in an attempt to keep tears in. "I know. It's hard for me, too."

The two women shared a silent moment before Sara cleared her throat. "I guess I'll head out then." She turned back to Nick, still sleeping, and rubbed his arm. "Get better, okay?" she ordered him quietly, not enough to rouse him.

Catherine held out a slip of paper. "Address," she said simply.

Sara took the paper and moved past Catherine. "I'll see you later," she said as she slipped through the door.

"Take Greg with you."

Sara raised an arm in acknowledgement and continued down the hall. "Let's go, Sanders," she said as she came upon the guys in the hall.

Greg stood. "Right behind you."

They said their goodbyes to Warrick, the whole exchange seeming very somber. Sara and Greg heading out to a crime scene, Catherine and Warrick waiting to endure the inevitable wrath of Gil Grissom.

Sara did not envy their position.

* * *

Warrick watched Sara and Greg leave and remained standing in the middle of the hall. He wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to be doing. Catherine had already sent people over to the Miller house, and there was nothing to do with the evidence they had pertaining to Nathaniel Walsh's murder until they heard from someone in the lab. He had an itchy trigger finger and nowhere to shoot. And no one. _Not yet._

Reflexively, Warrick looked down at his pager. It was silent, and displayed only the time. "What now?" he said out loud.

He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to find out who had hurt his friend and make them pay. However, he wasn't sure that was the way to stay in what little of Grissom's good graces he had left. He was already in the doghouse, and ignoring protocol would not be the wisest thing to do.

Warrick frowned, turning back towards Nick's room. Catherine hadn't come out yet. He was waiting for her so he could find out what in the hell he was supposed to be doing. It was hard to focus on anything at the moment, and he shifted anxiously from foot to foot. He just kept replaying finding Nick at the bottom of the stairs in his head, not his most pleasant of memories.

Catherine emerged suddenly from the door down the hall and put a hand to her face.

Warrick felt his heart drop. He went to her and folded her into his arms. It was a hug of friendship and comfort, and nothing more.

Catherine sobbed into his shoulder, and he tried to calm her down. "Shh," he said soothingly. "He's gonna be okay. You need to be strong, you hear?" He felt some kind of movement in his armpit and assumed it was a nod.

Catherine raised her head and wiped her eyes, laughing at the mascara that came away on her fingers. "I know. It's just so hard to see him in there like that…again."

Warrick said nothing, but squeezed her shoulder. He, himself was trying hard to keep his emotions reigned in. That's what she needed the most from him at the moment.

Catherine smiled up at him with slightly red eyes. "Thanks."

He smiled back and wiped a smudge from her cheek. "Let's find out who did this, okay?"

Catherine nodded. "We have to get back to the lab."

"Okay." Warrick let Catherine lead the way, so he could take a moment to collect himself before going out into the world again. He had to be strong for her, for Nick, for everyone.

If Warrick had to be the glue that held everyone together, then so be it. It would keep him from falling apart.

* * *

"You want a Coke?" Greg asked, looking out of the passenger side window as they passed a convenience store.

Sara glanced over and shook her head. "No. Do you?"

Greg shrugged. "I don't know," he mumbled.

He wasn't even sure why he had spoken, except to break the silence. He was doing that a lot lately. Breaking the silence, playing the role of the comic relief. It was okay, it had kind of come to be expected of him, and he had eventually come to fit into the role.

Greg wished he had a time machine so he could go back in time and do some things over, stop worrying about the stupid little things in his life. He had come to realize that his life was cake. While Nick had been pushed down a flight of stairs and landed hurt and unconscious, what had Greg been doing? Worrying about the girls finding out where his coffee was.

He was disgusted with himself. Even more so because he hadn't been able to build up the courage to go in and see Nick, and he wasn't even sure exactly why that was. With the exception of a row of stitches in his forehead, Nick wouldn't have looked that bad. So it had to be something else. Maybe a reminder of how fragile the whole concept of life was. Or maybe that was trying to be too deep, and it was just as simple as this: Greg hated hospitals.

That was it, plain and simple. His stay a few years ago had been short, but painful and nerve-wracking, and he just couldn't be in one of those rooms again. Even to be there for someone else. He was doubly disgusted. At least the others had been polite and not mentioned it, but he was sure they were all thinking about how selfish he was.

Greg stared out of the window, watching as the passing buildings gave way to housing editions. They were getting close, and he was going crazy in the silence._ Time to play the tension-breaker again._

"So what in the hell do you think is going on here?" he asked.

Sara stiffened.

_Okay, minus one point for the tension-breaker_, Greg thought. He saw her hands tighten on the wheel.

"I don't know," she said. "I mean, I guess we assume the two murders are related and we go from there."

"Same murderer," Greg said to himself. "We'll have to see." He looked out of the window again. "Do you think the killer attacked Nick?" The question came out before he realized how nonchalant he sounded and immediately regretted it.

Sara gripped the wheel even tighter, her knuckles, along with her face, white. Greg wasn't sure if it was the word "killer" or "attacked," but Sara had definitely reacted.

"Sorry," he said.

"You're fine," she said, but it didn't sound like she meant it. "I just…can we not talk about it right now?"

"Yeah. Sure." Greg drummed his fingers on the armrest.

Sara squinted but didn't tell him to stop.

He checked an upcoming street sign with the address on the piece of paper he was holding and pointed. "There it is."

They came to a stop at a small clapboard house only two streets over from the house where the Walshes lived.

The body was in the living room, sprawling on the carefully varnished hardwood floor in front of the sectional sofa. Greg pulled out his camera and started snapping photos. He made sure to get extra shots of the bullet hole in her chest. While he took pictures, Sara walked slowly around the room, taking in the scene.

"Looks like a struggle," she said.

Greg looked up to see what she was talking about. Several books had been knocked off of the bookshelf, and there was a glass of something spilled on the coffee table. Smelled like alcohol. He turned to the officer at the door. "Where's the husband?"

"Brass took him in for questioning. He was saying something about how he found her when he got home from work and that Brian or somebody did it."

Sara looked over, her eyes narrow. "Ryan?" she asked the officer. "Ryan Walsh?"

The officer snapped his fingers. "Yeah, that was it. The guy was completely out of it, but it kept saying that it was Ryan."

Sara looked sharply at Greg. "We need to find some goddamned evidence right now," she said, not sounding at all like herself.

So much so, in fact, that it took Greg a moment to respond. He managed only to nod, and turned back to his camera. The flash of the bulb reflected back at him from a spot near the body, and Greg lowered the camera. He snapped on a glove and knelt, reaching under the couch.

"Hey, Sara," he said, studying his find.

"Yeah?"

He held up the handgun for her to see. "Will this help?"

* * *

Catherine busied herself with straightening her office. Of course, there was nothing to straighten, because she was by nature neat and organized, so she was basically just pushing papers around on her desk and rearranging pens, her hands trembling slightly, from exhaustion, anxiety, and the fact she'd barely eaten the past couple of days.

She looked up at the clock on the wall. It was nearing eleven. She had been on for nearly two straight days, and for the first time, was really starting to feel it. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to shower. She wanted to eat. She settled for changing shirts and grabbing a granola bar and coffee from the break room.

On the way back to her office, Mia flagged her down. Catherine sipped her coffee as she opened the door, willing her hands to settle in the presence of another person. "What's up?"

Mia picked up a couple of papers from her desk. "After restoring order to the DNA lab," she said, annoyance apparent, "I got time to run those samples that Nick dropped off."

This was news to Catherine; she didn't know that Nick had dropped off any evidence to be processed, and she told Mia as much.

Mia shrugged. "Yeah, it was here when I came in, labeled to be processed for DNA. Didn't say whose it was, though."

Catherine frowned. "That's not like Nick. What was it?"

Mia gestured to a sealed evidence bag sitting on the counter. "A plastic cup. I'm not sure where he got it."

Catherine thought for a moment. "I'm drawing a blank." She took another drink of her coffee. "Well, what are the results?"

Mia handed her the paper. "I pulled two different samples, one male, one female. No hits in the system on either, but there was a note on the bag to compare it to…" She surveyed the countertop. "The results from this gum." She held up the jar.

Catherine nodded. "From our original scene."

"Sure. Anyways, it looks like the male DNA donor from the cup is related to our gum chewer." She handed Catherine another paper. "Father, brother, son?"

Catherine looked over the results. "Well, it's not a son. The gum was from a kid." She looked over at the bagged cup. "I wonder where Nick got that," she said.

Mia raised an eyebrow. "It would have helped if it had been labeled properly."

Catherine frowned at the lab tech. Considering the circumstances, the tech's customary clinical way of speaking seemed inconsiderate. "Thanks, Mia."

She headed back to her office, planning to enjoy her snack, when her cell phone rang. It was Gil. Catherine groaned. _Show time._ "Hey, Gil," she said.

_"I'll be at the lab in twenty minutes."_

That was it. No greeting, no inquiry. Catherine checked her watch. "Okay – "

_"Meet me in my office. Be sure to tell Warrick."_

The call ended. Catherine stared at the small screen for a moment before flipping shut the phone. "Great," she said under her breath. "Can't wait."

* * *

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

_Part Four_

Jim stared across the table. Mike Miller was avoiding eye contact, was doing a lot of sniffing and staring at the floor. He'd seen many men react the same way after losing their spouse. However, he had also seen many men react the same way when they had in fact been the one to kill their spouse and were simply good actors.

Sara had called him from the house and informed him about the gun they'd found. Under the couch, like it had been tossed in a quick attempt to hide it.

"Mr. Miller," Jim said.

The man looked up and locked eyes with the captain.

Jim cocked his head. "Do you own a gun?"

Mike's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Yes, I did, and I would like to think you would be more sympathetic to my situation. I just lost my wife."

"You're right, I'm sorry." Jim shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. "Do you own a gun?"

Mike looked over at the door. "Am I being interrogated or are you taking my statement?"

Jim leaned forward and folded his hands on the desk. "Mr. Miller, the CSIs that were sent to your home found a gun underneath the couch. I just want to know if they should expect to find your prints on it."

Mike's eyes widened and he quickly shook his head. "No, I don't own a gun."

"And they're not going to find your prints on it, right?"

Mike smacked a hand on the table. "No! I came home and I found Judy in the living room. I called the police…I never saw a gun. And I definitely never touched one."

Jim sat back in his chair. "911?"

"What?"

"Did you call 911?" Jim spoke slowly for the man.

"I – I…she was dead."

"You were sure? Are you a doctor?"

Mike Miller looked around the room for some kind of support, but he was alone. It was just him and the detective. "I checked for a pulse, and – "

"If it was my wife, I think I would have called the paramedics, no matter what." _Maybe not today,_ Jim thought._ Back when we were married, maybe. In the good years, before she turned into Satan's handmaiden._

"Mr. Brass, I know that you're doing your job to find out who killed my wife – "

"I am." Jim nodded.

Mike looked up sharply. "Then why are you sitting here with me instead of arresting Ryan Walsh?"

Jim sat in silence, waiting to see what the man had to say next.

"You can't tell me that he didn't do this! He blamed us for what happened to Nate."

"Should he have?"

Mike shook his head. "No, because whatever he told you is a lie – "

"What about what _you_ told me?" Jim cut the man off and leaned forward. "You and your wife stated that you left Nathaniel with his father."

Mike shifted in his seat. "That's true."

"So what you're saying is that it was someone entirely unknown to us at this point who killed that little boy."

Mike looked Jim dead in the eye. "I guess so."

It was a challenge, and Jim took it. "Then tell me where to look."

After another ten minutes and no real information, Jim had to let the man go. He wasn't convinced that Miller was completely innocent in all of this, but they didn't have anything to hold him on.

He walked to a somewhat quiet corner of the station and pulled out his phone, punched in Catherine's cell number and waited. And waited. When he got her voicemail, he frowned. "Hey, Catherine, it's Jim. I had to let the husband go, we don't have anything on him. Yet. Anyways, Greg and Sara should be bringing a gun home with them tonight, tag it express, okay?"

He disconnected the call and walked back down the hall where Mike Miller was signing some papers. There was just something about this guy wasn't quite sitting right with Jim. He crossed his arms and watched the man leave, not moving quite like a man who had just discovered his wife's dead body.

Once Miller was out of the station, Jim pulled his phone out again. He set up an officer in plainclothes to watch the Miller house that night.

He just had a feeling.

* * *

Catherine cleared her throat but Gil didn't look up.

He stared down at all of the paperwork on his desk. Evidence logs, DNA printouts, crime scene photos…it was all there. When Warrick cleared his throat as well, Gil looked up to the two of them hovering in his doorway.

"Come in," he said, gesturing to the two chairs on the other side of his desk.

They exchanged looks and entered the room cautiously, settling silently into the chairs.

Gil set the papers aside and folded his hands on top of them. He wanted to keep this simple; he'd never been one to have a flare for the dramatics. More than anything, he wanted to wait for the two of them to speak first and explain in their own words why they'd teamed up to allow this to happen.

"Gil," Catherine said, taking care to look at her hands as she spoke. "I know that you think we screwed up – "

"Screwed up? That's how you're looking at this?" Gil eyed her through his glasses.

She looked up at his interruption. "We did everything the way that we always have – "

"And we left Nick alone in a possible suspect's house. Again." As Gil spoke, he locked eyes with Warrick, who, for his part, didn't look away. The look in his eyes showed that he knew he had screwed up.

"He couldn't have known what was going to happen – "

"I don't need you to defend me, Catherine," Warrick interrupted angrily. "I wasn't thinking, and I did something stupid. I know it."

Catherine looked back and forth between the two men. "You said yourself that you were only out of the house for a minute, and Ryan Walsh was outside with an officer. You didn't do anything wrong."

"There was no one in the house with him, Cath. That was my bad move." Warrick pounded his knee with a fist for emphasis.

Gil sat back and folded his hands under his chin, propping his index fingers under it. He sat in silence throughout their whole exchange.

Warrick turned to him. "I know I screwed up, and I'll take whatever punishment you give me. I don't care about that, just as long as Nick's gonna be okay."

"Is he?"

Both Warrick and Catherine looked up at the small question.

Catherine's mouth opened, but it took a moment to speak. "Of course he is, it's just – "

"Because I called the hospital on the way from the airport." Gil glared at them.

They both looked away as they realized that he knew the extent of Nick's injuries without any spin on it they might have been able to attempt. Mainly, his head trauma.

"The doctor said those memories could come back, and it really wasn't that bad," Warrick said.

Catherine stayed silent.

Gil retained his glare at them as he picked up the paper Nick's doctor had faxed to his office. He read it aloud to them. "One unit of blood delivered in the ER from severe trauma to the head…received thirteen stitches…did not regain consciousness for several hours." Grissom looked at them over the top of his glasses. "Not to mention the cracked ribs and sprained ankle."

Catherine chewed on her thumbnail. Warrick ran a hand over his face. No one spoke for several minutes.

The silence was broken by Catherine's cell phone. She looked up at Gil, and in getting no reaction, reached for the phone.

"Leave it," he said, surprising himself with the fierceness in his voice.

Catherine looked taken aback. "It's Jim…"

"He'll call back."

Catherine put her hand back in her lap. A couple of times, it looked like she was going to speak, but apparently decided that silence was safer.

Gil coughed and moved the papers on his desk into a somewhat organized pile. "I'm going to go home and attempt to get some sleep. I suggest you do the same. In the morning, I'm going to see Nick, and then I'm taking over this case." He put the stack of papers into a folder and grabbed his briefcase.

"I'm sorry," Warrick said. "I let you down."

"Yeah." Gil looked at him as he moved for the door. "You did."

* * *

It was morning. Nick could tell because of the gray light seeping in through the blinds. He wasn't sure what time it was exactly, but it felt early. The clock on the opposite wall was too far and too blurry to make out. He was tired. He hadn't gotten a great night's sleep, what with being woken up every hour and all. The nurses had been nice about it, but it still sucked. Eventually, he just gave up trying to sleep.

The door opened quietly and a nurse named Linda poked her head in the room. "Oh, you're up," she said with a smile.

"Yeah."

She moved to his bedside and checked the stand that held his pain medication. Then she picked up the chart hanging on the wall. "How are we feeling this morning?"

"Ready to get outta here," Nick responded honestly.

The nurse smiled and crossed her arms over the chart. "Dr. Lowell is going to be coming by in a bit to discuss that very thing."

Nick smiled and settled back against his pillows. "I feel better already."

The nurse made a note on the chart and put it back in its place. "How's the head? Are you still unable to remember what happened to you?"

Nick shrugged. "I guess."

He wasn't avoiding the question, it was the truth. It was hard to figure out what he was actually remembering and what he was just trying to remember based on what Warrick had told him. Sometime during the night he'd woken with a start, shaking and scared. It was weird, sure, but he didn't think it warranted telling the nurses or his doctor about. It was just a nightmare, and people had those all of the time.

"Okay then." The nurse patted his arm. "Dr. Lowell will stop by in an hour or so."

As soon as the door shut, Nick's attitude changed drastically, and he suddenly felt very alone and cold. The thought that there was someone out there that had tried to hurt him, and had succeeded…it scared him. It didn't help that he didn't remember, and had no idea who'd attacked him. He didn't feel safe, and, however selfishly, was kind of surprised no one was here in the hospital with him. But the case wasn't going to solve itself.

_The case…_something tugged at Nick's mind, and it kind of hurt. He put a hand to his forehead, careful of the stitches. He just wanted out of here.

Nick heard movement outside the door and craned his neck to get a better view. A shadow was visible, drawing closer. Nick placed his finger over the 'call nurse' button, his hand shaking slightly.

The door opened and Grissom stepped into the room. Nick let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding and released the button. _What in the hell is wrong with me_, he thought. _Wait…Grissom?_

"Gris, man, what are you doing here? Didn't you have a conference in…L.A.?" It took him a second, but Nick pulled the city out of the recesses of his mind.

"Yeah, I did, but Catherine called me and told me what happened." Grissom was grim and unsmiling. He lowered himself stiffly into the same plastic chair his friends had been filling one at a time.

"I'm okay," Nick assured him. "They might even let me go home today."

"Yes, I spoke with your doctor."

"You did?"

Grissom nodded. "I called last night."

Nick frowned. "Last night? Why didn't you just come by?"

Grissom made a few incoherent sounds, and then avoided the question all together. "I'm taking over the case."

"Why? Cath was doing a great job…as far as I remember." He meant it to be a joke, but Grissom didn't smile. "Relax, Gris. I'm fine, really." Nick sat up, causing him to wince from shooting pains in both his head and side.

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Yes, it looks like it."

Nick glared at him. "It's not that bad." Despite what he said, he held a light hand to his side.

There was a knock on the door and both Nick and Grissom looked over as Dr. Lowell entered.

Grissom stood and shook hands with the doctor. "Gil Grissom," he said. "We spoke on the phone."

"Ah, Mr. Grissom." Dr. Lowell looked down at Nick. "I hear we're ready to get out of here," he said with a smile.

"Yes, we are," Nick said, putting on his best feeling-all-better face.

Dr. Lowell looked at the chart he'd carried in with him. "It looks like nothing serious came out of the last CAT scan, so we're going to go ahead and send you home this afternoon. Do you have someone who can drive you?"

Nick looked up at Grissom with pleading eyes, mentally telling him, '_Get me out of here!'_

Grissom concentrated on the doctor. "Are you sure he's ready to be released?"

Nick frowned. There was no way Grissom wanted to keep him in this godforsaken place. It was horrible, and just being in hospital room brought back bucketsful of memories that he'd really rather forget.

"Yes, it was only a concussion. We kept him overnight for observation, but I see no reason why he can't go home. He'll heal just as well there."

The doctor turned his attention to Nick. "No work for a couple of days, though. And make sure you take the medication they'll send you home with."

"Cross my heart," Nick said with a smile. He knew the drill.

"You take care," Dr. Lowell said to Nick. He ducked his head to Grissom and left the room.

Grissom smacked his hands against his legs. "Well, I guess if the doctor thinks you're okay to leave, then that's that."

Nick was surprised. He thought Grissom would have been happy that he was feeling well enough to be let go. Of course, he wasn't actually feeling as well as he was letting on…but it was close enough.

Grissom squinted at his watch. "I really should be getting to the lab."

Nick nodded, but felt a sting. "Sure."

"I'll stop by the front desk and see when exactly they think you'll be released, and we'll send someone to pick you up and take you home."

"Okay." The joy of going home seemed to be sucked out of the moment.

Grissom smiled at him. "I'll see you later, Nick."

"Grissom, wait."

Grissom raised his eyebrows, waiting for Nick to speak.

Nick swallowed. "Warrick told me what happened. He feels really guilty, man, and I don't want him to. Go easy on him, okay?"

Grissom's eyes flashed, and Nick saw an anger there he couldn't remember seeing before. "He should feel guilty, Nick. He put your life in danger."

"Not on purpose," Nick argued. "He would never do that, and you know it. Don't put all the blame on him."

"And who am I supposed to blame, Nick?" Grissom threw his arms out for emphasis. "No one around here has any idea what's going on. From what I hear, you were the only one who had any inkling of a theory, and you can't even remember it."

Nick averted his eyes, choosing to focus on the IV line running into his hand.

Across the room, Grissom sighed. "I've really got to get going."

Nick nodded.

"Nicky." Grissom started to say something else, but didn't finish. By the time Nick looked up, he was already on his way out of the door.

Nick suddenly felt achy and exhausted. All that lack of sleep was catching up to him, despite the several hours he'd spent unconscious the previous day. He closed his eyes and felt himself start to drift off when the door opened yet again.

Nurse Linda smiled and held up a tray. "Just stopped by with breakfast."

_Great, hospital food. _ But he was hungry, so he took it without complaint.

The nurse busied herself around the room, straightening the chairs and opening the blinds. "You must have a lot of people that care about you," she said.

Nick swallowed a bite of blue Jello. "I guess. I've only had one visitor this morning."

The nurse turned and looked at him. "Did the other guy not come and visit you?"

Nick frowned. "What other guy?" _Warrick? Greg? Brass?_

Nurse Linda shrugged. "This man came to the nurse's station asking about you. Said he was a friend, but he didn't give a name."

Nick suddenly lost his appetite. A stranger, inquiring about him at the hospital, the day after he was attacked at a possible crime scene. "I'm really, really ready to go home now," he mumbled.

Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe not.

Nick spent the rest of the morning staring at the door, forgetting about how tired and achy he was, until Warrick came to pick him up at noon.

* * *

Warrick had been somewhat surprised, but relieved, when Grissom told them Nick was going to be sent home that afternoon. He knew how uncomfortable Nick was in hospitals, and it also helped to alleviate some of his guilt by knowing that his injuries had only required a single day's stay. Not much, but some.

When Warrick arrived at the hospital, however, he put all of his selfish thoughts aside and wondered if Nick was really ready to leave. He entered the room to find his friend sitting bolt-upright in bed, his face pale, eyes locked on the door. He'd even jumped when Warrick came in. The man had honestly looked better the previous day.

"Hey, man. You okay?" Warrick studied Nick's wide-eyed expression with concern.

Nick shook it off and gave Warrick a lopsided grin. "Yeah. Just…jumpy, I guess."

Warrick handed Nick a bag of clean clothes, which his friend gratefully accepted. "How come?"

"Hospitals, man." It was answer enough.

The nurse had already removed the IV, and Nick stepped out of his bed, careful of his swollen ankle. He winced.

Warrick frowned. "You need crutches or something?"

Nick huffed and rolled his eyes. "No. But they're bringing me some, anyway."

He made his way slowly to the bathroom, half-dragging his right foot behind him, his left arm wrapped around his side.

"They're giving you a 'scrip, too, right?" Warrick asked as he watched his friend's slow movements.

"Yeah, yeah," Nick answered. It took him awhile to change, but not as long as Warrick would have expected.

When Nick emerged from the small bathroom, he looked completely worn out, shuffling back to his bed. He sat on the edge and exhaled deeply. They just had to wait for someone to bring in the papers for Nick to sign so he could leave. Warrick reached out and hit the volume button on the side of the bed, turning it up, and changed the channels until he found ESPN. He leaned back, content to watch some college football until the nurse came by.

"Did you come by here this morning?"

Nick sounded tentative, as if he was nervous about the answer he might receive.

"Nah, I couldn't. I was stuck in the lab." Warrick frowned. The lab wasn't exactly the happiest place in the world right now, especially with Grissom's mood upon his return.

Nick nodded slowly, and turned to look out the window. "Okay. What about one of the other guys? Greg, or…"

Warrick shook his head. "I don't think so. Everyone was pretty busy in the lab. Bodies are piling up on this case, man."

He filled Nick in on the murder of Judy Miller, watching his friend's reactions closely. There was recognition in his eyes when he mentioned the names of Millers, but he also seemed preoccupied, like there was something else on his mind.

Nick frowned. "Okay."

Warrick was confused by the disappointment in his friend's voice. Maybe he should have tried harder to get Gris to allow him to come to the hospital earlier. He didn't know Nick would take it so hard that he hadn't been able to. He was about to apologize when a pretty nurse came in, a pair of crutches in one hand and a prescription in the other. Nick scowled at the sight of the crutches but seemed to be grateful at the prospect of the meds.

She handed the prescription to Warrick, explained the medicine and dosage, all the usual things. "I'll be right back," she said.

Nick glared at the crutches leaning on his bed. "I don't need them," he grumbled.

Warrick shook his head. "Don't you even start. You could barely walk to the bathroom. You're using them, and you're gonna like it," he finished with a smile.

Nick rolled his eyes.

"You're like a damn kid," Warrick said, laughing.

The nurse reentered, pushing a wheelchair.

"God," Nick said as she motioned to it. "This place is great at making you feel like an invalid." But he settled himself in the chair for the routine ride out to the car.

"You are," Warrick said.

Nick shot him a look. Warrick knew that Nick hated feeling helpless, but the guy really needed to learn to let other people take care of him every now and then. A bang of guilt hit Warrick deep in his chest. Maybe that's what Nick had been doing, sending him out to get the ALS, leaving him alone, trusting Warrick.

Warrick drove Nick to his house, despite his friend's requests, and then demands, to go to the lab instead. He pulled into Nick's driveway and left the engine idling, running around to help Nick out and give him his crutches, as Nick was already starting to hop out on his own.

When they got inside, Nick practically collapsed on his sofa, and Warrick had a feeling that Nick was relieved to be home. Also, that he wasn't going to be moving anytime soon.

Warrick stood by the doorway. "Aight, I'm gonna run out and pick up your meds, and then I have to get back to the lab. Grissom's got me on a pretty short leash."

Nick turned to him. "Warrick, I don't blame you for what happened."

Warrick gave his friend a small, sad smile. "How could you? You don't even know what happened."

He knew what Nick was trying to do, but nothing he said was going to make Warrick not blame himself. "I really should get going. Case isn't gonna solve itself." He made to leave.

"You really didn't come by this morning?" The voice was small.

Warrick shook his head. "No, I didn't."

"Okay." It was the same reply as earlier, and it worried Warrick.

"You all right, Nick?"

Nick nodded. "Uh huh."

"All right." Warrick left to get Nick's pain medicine, which he could tell Nick needed from the way he was clutching his side.

When he returned, Nick was still sitting in the same spot on the couch, staring at the TV, which was off.

Warrick set the prescription bottle on the side table, and told Nick that he would call and check up on him later, no matter how many times Nick said he didn't need it. He was worried, wondered if Nick had maybe remembered something. There was something bothering Nick, and he wasn't telling them.

* * *

The crime lab was a somber place that afternoon. As the day shift trickled in, they heard about what had happened with Nick, and knew that Catherine and Warrick were in the doghouse with Grissom. Everyone in the lab seemed to be avoiding the night shift…word was spreading that they were all on edge. With the exception of Archie and Bobby, Sara was having a hard time finding anyone to process her evidence.

Last night, she had dropped the gun off at Jacqui's station with a note, as Jacqui was nowhere to be found. She hoped the tech had lifted the fingerprints already so that she could get the gun to Bobby.

Jacqui looked up from her computer as Sara entered her workspace.

"Hey, Jacqui," Sara said with a smile to make sure the lab tech knew that she was in a relatively okay mood, and that it was safe to talk to her.

Jacqui returned the smile, and Sara thought if might have had a twinge of relief in it. "Hi, Sara. You here for the prints on the gun?"

Sara nodded.

Jacqui clicked on an icon on her computer and moved the monitor so Sara could see it. Two images of scanned fingerprints appeared on the screen. While Sara was excited that Jacqui had been able to pull a couple of prints, she was discouraged by the flashing "No Match Found" at the bottom of each print.

It seemed that the lab tech could read Sara's expression. "Yeah," she said. "Sorry. But I did pull some really clear prints. Get me something to compare them to, and I'll see what I can do."

Sara nodded. "Yeah, okay," she said. "Thanks, Jacqui." But inside, she wasn't feeling all that hopeful.

The only thing she could do was go back to Ryan Walsh and Mike Miller, their only possible suspects, and collect fingerprints. She started out of the room and almost ran smack into Catherine, on her way in.

"Sorry," they said in tandem.

Sara noticed the evidence bag in Catherine's hand, cocked her head to see it better. "What do you have?" she asked, hopeful that it was something to break the case. _Fat chance_, she thought.

Catherine held up the bag, and Sara could see that there was a small plastic cup in it.

"Where'd you get that?"

Catherine looked at the bag. "I didn't. Nick bagged it. I called him and asked him about it, but he didn't remember doing it."

Sara bit her lip. The situation just kept getting worse and worse.

Catherine sighed. "I don't know, I guess I just thought I'd try and see if there were any prints on it. There were a couple samples of DNA, but no match to anything in the system. I wanted to see if maybe we could lucky and catch a print."

Sara had a thought. "Are we sure this has something to do with the case?"

Catherine frowned. "I'd assume so. I don't think Nick just goes around randomly bagging things."

Sara rolled her eyes, but it was teasing, not out of annoyance. For the first time in the past few days, there didn't seem to be such a thick air of tension between them. "Could you have Jacqui compare any prints she gets to what she pulled from the gun we got from the Miller's house?"

"You having a thought?"

"Yeah. Even we don't get a name, maybe we can start to put together some kind of connection, if not a timeline."

"Couldn't hurt." Catherine opened the door.

Sara cleared her throat. "Listen, Catherine."

Catherine turned back and looked at her, eyebrows raised.

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. For the way I've been acting the past couple of days. It all seems kind of stupid now."

"Yeah, it does. I'm sorry, too. And I didn't mean it when I said that I would take you off of the case." Catherine looked down. "Not that it matters now."

Sara reached out and put a hand on Catherine's arm. "It wasn't your fault. Or Warrick's, for that matter."

"Grissom seems to be seeing things differently."

"He's just upset about what happened. I'm sure he's cooled down by now."

Catherine didn't respond to this comment. She just looked over Sara's shoulder into the print lab. "I'm gonna get this to Jacqui. I have a lot to do today."

Sara left Catherine and went to find Grissom. He was in his office, leaning over his desk, looking over the folders he'd demanded from them the night before. Sara stepped into the office and crossed her arms.

Grissom looked up and then back down. "Sara."

That was all. In Grissom's mind, there was no need for going through the formalities of using words such as 'hey' or 'hello.'

"You got a minute?"

Grissom looked back up at her. "Sure." He took off his glasses and sat in his chair.

"Will you lay off Warrick and Catherine?" Sara asked.

Grissom raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. You're treating Warrick like he's the one that hurt Nick, and you took the primary away from Catherine. She was doing a great job."

Grissom smiled and looked at his computer screen. "From what I hear, the two of you haven't exactly been getting along."

Sara made a face. "We can't all get along all of the time. But that doesn't matter, because she really was doing a great job while you were gone. We got a lot done…we just don't have anything to show for it," she added when Grissom looked at her with his 'Oh, really' look.

Grissom put his glasses back on. "Except that now we're down a CSI because he's home recuperating from injuries received at a crime scene."

"If that's all you're going to focus on…" Sara trailed off as something occurred to her.

She walked to a chair and sat, placing her hands on her knees. She waited until Grissom looked up before she spoke again. "I know that you're worried about Nick, but you can't blame yourself for what happened just because you weren't here."

Grissom stared back at her without speaking, a sure sign that she'd just hit the jackpot.

Sara covered his hand with hers and gave it a small squeeze. "We have no way of predicting the future. You couldn't have known what was going to happen, and couldn't have stopped it if you'd been here."

Grissom rubbed his beard with the hand that wasn't trapped under Sara's. He met her eyes and for the briefest of moments, Sara thought that she might actually be getting some kind of emotional response from him.

He coughed uncomfortably and turned away, taking his hand with him. Sara balled her hand into a fist and pulled it into her lap.

"Do you have anything for me pertaining to the case?" He started typing on his keyboard, his fingers moving too jerkily for him to actually be typing any real words.

"Yeah," Sara said. She smiled an uneasy smile and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I, uh…well, Jacqui found a few prints on the gun we took from the Miller house. No matches in the system, though. Catherine's going to compare them to something Nick bagged, so maybe we'll get lucky."

"That would be nice," Grissom said. He glanced at her but his eyes flickered quickly back to the computer screen.

Sara played with her fingernails. She heard the tapping of the keyboard stop.

"Was there anything else?"

Sara looked up. "No…I guess not."

Grissom nodded and the tapping continued.

Sara sighed and stood. She paused at the door but didn't turn around. "I meant what I said. You can't blame yourself. And don't blame Warrick or Catherine either."

"Thanks, Sara."

Sara knew that was the most she was going to get out of him, so she took it. At least it was something.

* * *

Jacqui took the bag Catherine handed her and studied the cup inside. "Smooth surface," she observed. "If there's a print, I should be able to get it."

Catherine nodded. "Good. We could use a break."

Jacqui started to open the bag. "Do you want me to page you?"

"No, I can wait."

Catherine stood aside and watched Jacqui work. She pulled out a brush and a jar of fingerprint dust, and lightly dusted the surface of the cup, all the way around. Even from where she stood, Catherine could see several dark spots show up on the cup. Her spirits rose.

Jacqui held the cup under a bright light and studied the formation of the prints. "Looks like two sets." She rotated the cup, squinting. "One from a right-handed person…" She spun the cup again. "And the other from a south paw."

Jacqui set the cup down and grabbed a few print-lifting slips. She lifted the most defined prints from each set and set them aside.

"Could you do me a favor," Catherine asked. "And compare them to the prints from the gun Sara brought you?"

Jacqui nodded. "Sure. Hand me those, will ya?" She gestured to two other samples that were piled in front of Catherine.

Catherine handed Jacqui the papers and waited. Jacqui took one of the samples and set down in front of her. Then she took one of the samples that she had just taken from the cup and set it down next to it. She grabbed a magnifier and placed it over the gun print, looking through it. Then she moved to the print next to it.

"Definitely not a match," she said.

She replaced the cup print with the second one, and repeated the process. "Nothing here, either."

Catherine could feel her spirits start to sink. _We can't be at another dead end_, she thought, _Please._

This time, Jacqui replaced the print from the gun. She paused with the magnifier over it. "Hold it," she said. "I think I've got a match here."

"Yeah?" Catherine took a step forward and leaned over Jacqui's shoulder, studying the prints for herself.

"Yeah." The lab tech set the magnifier aside. "It's your lefty."

Catherine breathed a sigh of relief. "That's something." She thanked Jacqui and left the print lab with a smile. She walked quickly through the halls, searching for Sara but coming up empty. She did find Greg, however, in the middle of his lunch.

"Greg, hey. Have you seen Sara?"

He swallowed and gestured down the hall with his sandwich. "Yeah," he said, taking a bite. "She left a little bit ago on her lunch break. I think she was gonna stop by Nick's."

Catherine frowned. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to talk with your mouth full?"

Greg grinned and took another bite. "No, actually."

Catherine gave him a small, disgusted wave and kept on down the hall. She pulled out her phone and dialed on the way to her office. "Sara. Jacqui pulled two sets of prints from that cup that Nick bagged." Catherine settled into her comfy desk chair.

"_Just like the gun."_

"Yeah, but no. We did get a match, but only to one of the prints." Catherine played with the tip of a pen sticking out of the cup on her desk.

"_Nice. I'll go collect prints from Walsh and Miller."_

"I'll see you when you get back. Say 'hi' to Nicky for me, okay?"

"_Sure. I'll see you in a bit."_

Catherine hung up, feeling reinvigorated. Maybe this wasn't such a lost case after all.

* * *

Nick looked over at Sara. She'd come over on her lunch break but they hadn't really talked. She brought him a sandwich, which was nice, and he ate it out of politeness more than hunger. He didn't have much of an appetite.

He popped his knuckles nervously, debating on whether or not he should confide in Sara. He had a feeling that he could talk to her about his recent tendencies towards paranoia without being treated like a helpless child the way he would be by Catherine, Warrick, or Grissom.

"Sara?"

She turned to him, pausing from taking a sip from her bottle of water. "Yeah." She frowned. He must have looked more worried than he intended.

He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the sudden ringing of her phone.

She looked at the screen. "It's Catherine." She flipped open the phone. "Hello?"

Nick thanked God that her phone rang when it did, because it saved him from making a really big fool of himself. He'd felt so much better when he got home that he was sure that he had only been feeling uneasy in the hospital because it had been just that – a hospital.

"Nice," Sara said.

Nick looked over at her. He hadn't really been paying attention to what she was saying, but she sounded so excited that it drew his interest.

"I'll go collect prints from Walsh and Miller," Sara said into the phone. "Sure. I'll see you in a bit." She hung up and looked at Nick, grinning from ear to ear.

"What?"

"We're finally getting somewhere with the case." She pushed herself off of his sofa and grabbed her jacket from the counter. "I gotta go."

Nick nodded. "Well, thanks for stoppin' by." He only half meant it. He really didn't feel like sitting around at home alone all day, but he hadn't realized that people were just going to be popping in whenever they pleased.

Sara paused in the middle of putting her jacket on. "Was there something you wanted to tell me?"

Nick shook his head and plastered on a smile. "Nah, it's cool."

Sara smiled. "I'm really glad you're feeling better." She opened the front door. "Oh, and Catherine says 'hi'!" she added as she left.

"Hi," Nick said softly to an empty room.

* * *

The ringing of his cell phone woke Jim Brass with a start from where he'd fallen asleep at his desk. He hadn't slept in at least a day, and he was getting to be too old for that. He ran a hand over the stubble on his face and reached for his phone. "Yeah," he answered in a scratchy voice.

"_Hey, captain."_

It was the officer Jim had sent to Mike Miller's to keep an eye on him. "What's up, Steve?" Jim asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"_Sidle just got here. She said she came to collect Miller's prints."_

"Okay, so what? Does she want my permission or something?" Jim stifled a yawn and stretched his back.

"_No."_ There was a pause. "_He's not there, captain."_

Jim was wide-awake now. "What in the hell are you talking about, he's not there? That's why you're there – to watch him."

"_I know, Captain. He must have slipped out the back or something."_

Jim stood and grabbed his suit jacket. "Don't go anywhere, and keep Sara there. I'll be right over." He disconnected the call and wasted no time before punching in another number.

"_Willows."_

"Catherine, it's Jim." He threw on his suit jacket and attempted to straighten his tie and smooth the wrinkles in his shirt, difficult because he didn't have a mirror handy. "I think it's safe to say we officially have a suspect."

* * *

Nick winced as he bent to pick up the wrapper to Sara's sandwich and the empty water bottle she'd left in her haste to get back to the lab. He held his hand to side and the thought occurred to him that he had a really nice and full bottle of pain pills sitting on his side table, waiting for him.

Nick limped his way to the trash can in his kitchen. His crutches were leaning against the wall by the door but he was determined not to use them. He shuffled slowly back to the couch and fell back with a sigh, reaching for the blessed little amber bottle and swallowing two pills dry. It wasn't the most pleasant of tastes, but he had forgotten to grab something to take them with from the kitchen, and he really didn't feel like dragging his sorry ass all the way across his living room again.

It didn't take long at all for Nick to start to feel more relaxed. He leaned his head back against the cool leather of his sofa and grabbed the remote from beside him. He flipped through the channels, trying to find something that to hold his interest until his next unannounced visitor came by or he fell asleep…whichever came first.

Luckily, Nick had an impressive sports package, and he found a baseball game just getting started. He sat back, as into the game as he could be without being loud or making wide gestures.

There was a knock at the door, and Nick threw his head back with a sigh. "Coming," he grumbled, pulling himself up and hopping around the side of the couch to the door.

Standing on his front step was a man that Nick didn't recognize, although he looked somewhat familiar.

Nick held the door open halfway, using it as a support. "Can I help you?"

* * *

"Were we looking at Mike Miller as a suspect before today?" Grissom addressed his team – which was a little smaller than normal, sans Nick and Sara at the present moment.

Catherine shook her head. "We brought him in for questioning about the night that Nathaniel was murdered because the father said he'd been with them, but I think that most of us were starting to like the dad."

Warrick and Greg, though they hadn't been on the case for very long, nodded their agreement.

"Who interviewed him?" Grissom pressed. It was obvious to his team that he was irritated that this newfound suspect had slipped out from under them.

"I did," Catherine said defensively. "With Nick and Brass."

"And you didn't notice him acting suspiciously? Nothing at all?"

Catherine frowned. "I don't think so. It was a pretty routine interview."

Grissom kept pressing. "That means nothing to me. I need specifics. What did he say, what did he do?"

Warrick sat forward. "Gris – "

Grissom held up a hand to silence him. "These are the things you should have been asking yourselves." He maintained his gaze at Catherine. "We do still observe people, right?"

Catherine gave a curt nod. She thought for a moment, attempting to recall Miller's actions the previous day. "Well, his wife did most of the talking, he just sat there. They got some water and – "

"Water?" Warrick interrupted, sitting up in his chair.

Catherine glanced at him at questioningly. "Yeah, Mrs. Miller asked for a glass of water, and…"

Her eyes widened in realization. "Oh, God."

"Didn't you say – " Warrick started to ask.

"Yeah." Catherine was suddenly overcome with a heavy sense of fear and worry. "I – I didn't…I'm so stupid."

"What is it?" Greg asked, looking back and forth between the two.

"We found an evidence bag of Nick's. It was a cup, and we didn't know where he'd gotten it from because there was no name on the label…"

Grissom stood straighter. "Is there any chance Miller saw Nick bag that cup?"

Catherine shrugged, her eyes still wide. "I don't know…I left Nick in the room and I didn't see the Millers in the hall, but I guess he could have still been hanging around somewhere."

Warrick swore.

"Do you think he's our guy?" Greg asked anxiously.

Grissom looked around at them with a look that Catherine couldn't place. He was worried, like the rest of them, but he also looked angry…but Catherine couldn't tell who he was angry with. He pulled out his phone and pressed down a number, and Catherine started to breathe a little faster the longer Grissom stood with the phone.

_Pick up, Nick,_ she ordered him in her head.

"Nick?" Grissom said.

Catherine started to feel relieved, but then Grissom kept speaking.

"Nick, are you there? Pick up the phone."

Gil met Catherine's eyes, his face set. He held out the phone and hit the 'end' button. Grissom held down another number, and Catherine prayed it was to speed-dial Brass.

* * *

To be continued...


	5. Chapter 5

_Part Five_

Sara checked her watch and tapped her foot impatiently. Brass had said he'd be there right away, and twenty minutes had already spared a glance at the officer whose job it had been to keep an eye on the place and her heart went out to him. He was sitting on the hood of his unmarked car, hands dangling between his knees, looking severely depressed, like a man awaiting his death sentence. It was almost comical to see how many members of the cocky, sure of themselves LVPD quaked in fear in the face of an furious Jim Brass.

"You're sure you didn't see anyone enter or exit the house?" Sara asked, walking over to the officer, whose name she couldn't remember at the time. She had already asked the question at least three times, but kept checking. She wanted to make sure she caught anything that might pop up in his mind.

"Yes," he said firmly. "I was out here all night." He pounded his fist on his knee for emphasis. "I didn't see anyone."

"Okay." Sara began pacing the length of the sidewalk that ran along the front yard, shooting glances at the house.

She and the officer had done a quick walk-through when no one answered the door, and had found the house empty. Sara saw a cell phone and set of car keys on the hall table and deduced that if Miller had left, he'd done so on foot. She was waiting for Brass before she could look any further.

Sara stifled a yawn. It was still pretty early in the day, considering how long her day was going to be, but she hadn't gotten a lot of sleep, despite Grissom's order to them all to do so. _Thank God,_ she thought as she spotted the familiar Taurus turn onto the street and started walking towards it as it pulled to the curb.

"Take your sweet time, why don't ya?" she teased as Brass stepped out of the driver's side, looked wrinkled and as tired as she felt.

"Traffic," he mumbled, shaking his head. He glared at the officer, who shrank back and looked as though he was going to be sick.

"Captain Brass – " he started to say, his voice low.

"I'll deal with you later. Right now we need to find the suspect." He looked at Sara and jerked his head to the front door of the house.

Sara adjusted her sunglasses and the two started down the walk when Brass's cell rang.

* * *

"Jim, it's Gil. Are you at the house yet? You need to get over to Nick's right now…Miller might be headed there. Just do it!" Grissom pulled the phone away from his ear and hit the 'end' button without another word.

Catherine stood, worried and scared. She wasn't the only one; Warrick and Greg rose as well.

There was a moment where it seemed no one could get their limbs to cooperate, and the four stood around the table, staring at each other.

Catherine was the first to speak. "Oh, God," she breathed and practically ran from the room. There was a heavy, guilty feeling in the pit of her stomach.

God, _she_ should have been the one to notice the opportunity to get the Millers' prints, she should have been the one to bag the cup, but she'd been so caught up in meaningless petty arguments and an irrational temper that she had completely overlooked it.

She entered her office just long enough to grab her keys from her desk and turned, colliding with Warrick. She took a step back but he grabbed her roughly by the arms.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his bright green eyes full of the same worry as her own.

"I'm going to Nick's," Catherine said firmly. "You want to stop me?" She raised her arms, shaking his hold off.

Warrick grabbed her again. "Catherine, listen to me."

She glared at him and he released her arm. "We don't know that this is anything. The lazy bum just probably didn't get up to answer the phone." He smiled.

The smile did not do anything to calm her. "Do you really think so?" She watched his eyes, knowing that she would be able to tell if he was lying or just trying to keep her calm.

When he didn't say anything, Catherine took that as answer enough and he let her pass, immediately falling in step beside her.

* * *

"Can I help you?" Nick kept a steady hold on the door knob, using his other arm as a brace against the doorframe.

"Nick Stokes?"

"Yeah," Nick answered, frowning. "Do I, uh, do I know you?"

The man on his front step smiled, then looked to the left and started laughing.

Nick didn't know what was wrong with this guy, but he was really ready for him to get off of his property. "Sir, I'm not really feeling all that well right now, I'm gonna have to ask you to…" Nick trailed off.

There was something disturbing with the look of satisfaction and…pride...that passed over the man's features.

Nick squinted as the name that went with the face before him worked its way into the front of his mind. "Mr. Miller?" he asked.

The man's smile quickly faded, his expression becoming almost menacing.

An alarm went off in Nick's head and he started closing the door, mumbling something about not feeling like having any visitors when his phone started ringing. He looked back into the house, and the man on his doorstep took advantage of the distraction, stepping forward and pushing the door in, hard.

It caught Nick in the side of the face and he stumbled back, unintentionally putting all of his weight on his sprained ankle, which gave way with the pressure. He fell back, trying to keep his balance by grabbing onto the arm of his sofa, aggravating ribs that hadn't yet had the chance to begin to heal.

In the back of his mind, the little part that wasn't screaming at him, Nick heard the phone continue to ring, and then his answering machine pick up.

"It's Nick, leave a message and I'll get back to you when I get in."

_"Nick? Nick, are you there? Pick up the phone."_

_Grissom_. He heard the beep as the call was disconnected and it seemed as though his head, a fuzzy mess as thoughts and images flooded his brain, was going to explode.

The click of the front door shutting drew Nick's eyes upward and they widened. He clung to the edge of the sofa, keeping himself off of the ground, which was definitely not the place he wanted to be as Mike Miller stepped into his house. He didn't know what in the hell was going on, but his fight or flight instinct was telling him to back up fast and _now_. Normally, the "fight" reaction would be the one that he would go with, but the parts of him that were still sore were protesting.

Two things kept popping into Nick's mind: phone, and gun. It didn't look like his visitor had one – Nick was thinking more about his, only a few feet to his right in the small table along the wall.

"Things would have gone a lot better for you if you hadn't recognized me." Mike Miller hadn't moved from where he was standing just inside the door, his hands in his pockets like they were just having a casual conversation.

He was acting cocky, and Nick did not exactly think that this was a good thing. He wanted to pull himself up and gain some ground, but any sudden moves could set this guy off. So he stayed where he was, crouching on the ground, his arm locked onto the edge of the couch, all of his weight balanced on his left foot. His right one ached painfully, but he was positive that he could spring up if he needed to.

Mike Miller began to pace, walking back and forth in front of Nick, who followed the man's every move with narrowed eyes. It seemed Miller was unsure of what to do now, like he was deciding something.

As Nick watched the man pace, everything came rushing back, and he sucked in a painful breath, almost like he was falling down those stairs all over again. He remembered having a bad feeling about this guy and his wife when he met them…he remembered bagging the cup they had both touched and drank out of. It looked like his hunch was right…not that it was doing him any good right now.

The one good thing he had going for him was the message from Grissom on his answering machine. He'd sounded worried, which meant that they knew that something was up, and that help was hopefully on the way.

All of the little bits and pieces of evidence they'd collected over the past few days were starting to put themselves together in Nick's head. Something Warrick had said when he'd picked him up at the hospital, Judy Miller's murder.

"Why did you kill her? Your wife?" he asked, his voice strong and steady.

Miller's head whipped around and Nick fought the urge to cringe away. He held his position. "How did you know that?"

Nick couldn't help the smirk that came to his face. "Didn't until just now."

Miller's face contorted into a menacing frown and he kicked his foot out at Nick's chest, knocking him on his back.

_Bad idea_, Nick thought, wincing. He scooted back further into his living room but was stopped abruptly when a foot stepped on his chest.

Mike Miller looked down at him. "I'm a very powerful man, Mr. Stokes. Eileen threatened to tell the press that I was the father of her children, and that just wouldn't look too good for me."

"Murder doesn't look so good for you, either," Nick gritted out. The pressure on his chest increased and Nick gasped.

Miller's heel dug painfully into his side, into ribs that were already hurting. He didn't care about his ribs right now, he just wanted to keep this guy talking until someone got there.

Assuming they were coming.

The phone started ringing again.

* * *

Sara stared worriedly out of her window as Brass sped down the highway, lights flashing and siren blaring. She glanced sideways at the captain, who was gripping the wheel and staring unflinchingly out the windshield. He was swerving between cars like he was controlling a racecar in a video game.

They hadn't made it to the Millers' front door before Brass stopped, put his phone away, and turned to Sara with a look that had chilled her all the way to core. She'd had to race after him and just barely jumped into the car before he roared away, hitting the lights and sirens.

"What is it?" she'd asked fearfully, hastening to fasten her seat belt.

"It's Nick," was the answer, and he hadn't been able to look at her as he said it. In fact, he hadn't looked at her in the whole five minutes they'd been driving.

Sara's fingers dug into the fabric of the armrest, pulling painfully on her fingernails. She didn't loosen her hold, because it kept her from biting her lip. "Did they call him?"

"Gil didn't say."

"I'm calling him," Sara said. She punched in Nick's home number and hit the speaker button, holding the phone out so that Brass could hear.

Four rings and a click. _"It's Nick, leave a message and I'll get back to you when I get in."_

"Nick, are you home?" It was a stupid question, of course he was home – where else would he have gone? "We're on our way, okay?" Sara snapped the phone shut.

Brass's knuckles tightened even more around the steering wheel. Sara felt a tug as the car sped up.

* * *

"_Nick, are you home?"_

_Yes_, Nick wanted to yell, even though he knew it was pointless, knew Sara couldn't hear him. Miller's attention shifted momentarily from Nick, still pinned on the ground, to the phone and answering machine.

"_We're on our way, okay?" _

He really wished she hadn't said that last part. Not that he wasn't happy someone was coming, just that Nick hadn't been the only one to hear this message and know that back-up was on the way. Fortunately, Miller was unarmed, and Nick sidelined the pain in his side and ankle and heaved the whole of his weight to the left, dislodging Miller's foot from his chest.

He rolled and pushed himself up until he was standing with both feet firmly planted. His right leg was shaking slightly, but he refused to shift his weight. The effort, coupled with the pills he'd so recently taken, was already starting to drain him. He knew he wouldn't last long in a fight with this man, and he needed to get him talking again.

Nick took a heavy step back. "What happened to Nathaniel?"

Miller's eyes narrowed and he advanced on Nick. "My wife was smarter than I ever gave her credit for. It was something about seeing all of them at the same time – Ryan, Nate, and I – she put it together." He laughed and shook his head. "Needless to say, she wasn't happy."

Nick took another step back, and he swore at himself as he realized he was moving farther away from his gun, and the door. "Your wife killed Nathaniel?"

Miller smiled. "That's what she told me. She did it to hurt me, she said." There was no compassion in the man's voice. He didn't give a damn about that little boy.

"She didn't hurt you," Nick spat out. He could feel an anger rising in his chest up to his face until his cheeks burned. The anger fueled him, making him more confident in himself taking this man on, and he'd had taken a step forward before he even knew it.

Miller's eyes widened in amusement. "You're barely standing there, pretty boy, and I really better get going. It sounds like you have some friends on the way and I really don't want to be hanging around when they find your body." His hand went to his pocket.

Nick didn't want to see what he had in there. He dove at Miller and tackled him the ground, landing a punch before Miller threw him off.

His back hit the wall and he was stunned for a moment, but regained himself quickly. Miller had abandoned the idea of whatever it was he was going for in his pocket and lunged at Nick.

Nick rolled to the side and got to his knees. He flung open the little door to the table next to him and grabbed blindly for his spare gun.

* * *

Warrick laid down the accelerator at Catherine's request and they raced even faster in the direction of Nick's house. He'd insisted on driving from the moment he'd caught up with her in the hall. She was too emotional at the moment, and he wasn't sure that she should be handling a few tons of metal at high speeds. He wasn't exactly calm, himself, but driving at least made him feel like he was doing something.

Catherine shot him a pointed look.

"I can't go any faster, Cath," he told her, exasperated.

She sighed, reached over and flipped on the siren. "Now you can." And she resumed staring out of the windshield. "Here, turn here!" she shouted and pointed at an upcoming light.

"I know!" Warrick hadn't meant to snap, but he really wanted her to shut up. He needed to focus. He glanced over at Catherine, whose eyes were icy and face was drawn.

"Sorry," he mumbled, making the turn that she had pointed out.

"Just go faster."

* * *

Nick gripped the gun in his hand and whirled to face Miller, just as he heard the click of a hammer behind him. His heart beating so fast and hard it was hurting his ribs, he leveled the gun at the man who had one of his own. So his initial guess that Miller was unarmed wasn't entirely correct.

_Third time's a charm_, Nick thought, staring at the handgun pointed at him.

Miller brought up the gun. "You could have let it go, you know. But no, you had to pry, and I had to stop you. You could have followed Ryan for the murder, like everyone else did."

"He didn't do anything." In the distance, Nick could hear sirens. _Calvary's coming._

"It's going to look differently." Miller looked nervous at the sound of the sirens, but apparently decided he still had time. "Ryan helped me out. He knew one of us had something to do with Nate's death. He came to the house with a gun, but Ryan never was much of a man, and he couldn't bring himself to use it." He smiled. "His fingerprints are going to be all over it, though."

"You killed your wife, too," Nick said quietly. This man had killed twice before, and Nick knew there wasn't much standing in the way of Miller shooting him where he stood.

The sirens drew closer, and Nick could make out two distinct whines. One look at Miller's eyes told him that the man was not backing down, and Nick adjusted his grip on his own gun. No matter who got a shot off first, the other was poised to react and fire one of their own.

"Like I said," Miller said coldly. "Things would have gone a lot better for you if you hadn't recognized me."

Nick saw Miller's finger start to tense, and he adjusted his aim and squeezed his own trigger first.

The bullet hit Miller in the leg. Nick fired to take him down, not kill him. The son of a bitch couldn't rot in prison if he was dead.

Miller shouted and dropped his gun, falling to the floor. Nick stepped back until his legs collided with the wall and he slid down it, wrapping his left arm around his chest. He kept his right, still with the gun, pointing at Miller, panting in a heap on the ground.

Nick ran his arm across his forehead in an attempt to wipe off the sweat that had formed there. A spot on his arm caught his eye as he drew it away and he frowned. _Blood. _ He hadn't even realized that the hit to his head had caused him to bleed.

The sirens reached their peak and Nick heard several car doors open and slam outside. He sighed and laid his head back against the wall.

They didn't even bother with knocking. There was a kick to the door and it flew open. Nick looked over as Brass, Sara, Catherine, and Warrick rushed into the house. Brass and Warrick had their guns drawn. Sara and Catherine knelt down by Nick and the men hurried over to Miller, still prone on the ground. Brass jerked the man up roughly and secured a pair of handcuffs on him quickly.

"You're payin' for that door," Nick said with a small chuckle, which no one in the room returned.

Catherine reached out and touched the new cut on his forehead gently, causing him to hiss. "Sorry," she whispered.

Sara put a hand on his leg and pulled out her radio, requesting medical assistance.

Nick shook his head. "I'm fine."

"You're going to the hospital," Catherine ordered.

"Then we'll drive. I don't need an ambulance."

Catherine looked to Warrick as if for his approval.

He shrugged. "Do what the man says."

He and Brass dragged Miller out to the car while Sara and Catherine helped Nick up. He stood on one foot, looking longingly at his crutches, now strewn on the floor across the room.

Sara saw him looking. "Is your ankle worse?" she asked quickly, looking concerned.

Nick bit his lip and nodded. They helped him out of the door and to Warrick's truck.

Catherine stared at Miller, being loaded into the back of Brass's Taurus, and then at Nick.

"I'll fill you in on the way," he sighed.

* * *

It was quiet. Finally, it was quiet. Gil had shut the door to his office, threatening to fire the person who opened it. There were things that needed to be done. Paperwork, fingerprint comparisons, and logging all of the evidence. At least this was the excuse he had given Catherine when she'd called. That had been at least an hour ago.

In truth, he was simply sitting at his desk, staring at the wall. He couldn't help feeling guilty about everything that had transpired over the past few days. Sara had told him repeatedly it wasn't his fault, and he wasn't irrational – he knew that his actions hadn't caused anything to happen. It was just that feeling.

There was a light knock at the door.

Agitated, Gil started to stand. "I said I didn't want anyone coming in here – "

Catherine poked her head in. "Care to make an exception?"

"I doubt that I have much choice in the matter," Gil answered with a small smile, lowering himself back into his chair. He resumed his staring.

Catherine sidled up to his desk, snapping her fingers against her palm. "Whatcha doin'?"

Gil coughed and a made a show of opening several drawers of his desk. "Paperwork."

Catherine leaned over his desk and watched him fumble with a drawer that he'd forgotten he kept locked. She crossed her arms and smiled. "Yeah, that's what you said on the phone."

Gil pulled a few files from a drawer that wasn't locked, hoping Catherine wouldn't notice that they were empty. He didn't look up but could tell that she was still standing there.

"Did you need something?" he asked, looking up over the rim of his glasses.

Her nose wrinkled in the way that it did when she was concerned. "You okay?"

"Fine." He stacked the empty folders on his desk. "How's Nick doing?"

"Oh, so you _do_ care?"

He let go of the folders and leaned back. "That's not fair."

Catherine cocked her head slightly. "He's fine. Got another couple stitches. Warrick's taking him home now."

"I'll call him later." Playing with empty files didn't seem to be presenting the impression that he was extremely busy, so he opened a webpage and started typing.

"I'm sure that will mean a lot to him." Her tone did not match the sentiment that her words suggested, and she tilted her head and tried to look at the computer screen.

Gil moved it just a touch. "Catherine," he said.

"Hmm?"

"I'm pretty busy here."

"Yeah." Catherine took a step back, her arms still crossed in front of her. "I can tell." Gil could detect sarcasm in her tone.

He let it go and stared at the computer screen, where he'd opened a random page he had saved in his 'favorites' folder and was typing away – nothing was showing up on the page. It was some site about the life cycle of a dung beetle.

"You know," Catherine said, "you're more transparent than you think." And then he heard the door shut.

* * *

"Hey," Sara said, entering the break room and seeing Greg. "Haven't seen you in a while." She rumpled his hair as she walked past him to grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

Greg smoothed his hair with both hands and watched Sara. "You guys finish up?"

"Uh huh." She took a sip from her water bottle. "After what he confessed to Nick, Miller's going to be in prison for a long time."

"That's good."

"You off?" Sara sat down across from him.

Greg looked at his watch. "Yeah, a while ago. Just haven't gotten the motivation to go home yet, I guess."

Sara reached out and took Greg's hand. "I'm sure it'll make Nick happy if you just go over there and hang out for a while. Warrick's there."

Greg shrugged. "Yeah, I, uh…"

"Just hang out with the guys. You guys never do anything anymore."

It was true. They were always working, and hadn't had a boy's night out in a long time. Greg nodded and stood. "Sure. Yeah." He stood and walked around the table, rumpling Sara's hair as he passed.

"See ya later," he said, a little more cheerfully.

He turned around just long enough to give Sara, glaring at him from underneath a mess of knotty hair, a cheesy grin and a wink.

* * *

"You need anything?" Warrick asked from the small kitchen, poking through Nick's refrigerator.

Nick shook his head. "Nah, I'm cool." He played with the edge of the couch cushion, mostly to keep himself from scratching at the four new stitches on the side of his head, which were itching like crazy.

He heard the fridge door shut and Warrick shuffled back into the living room, glancing at the front door, which looked like it was barely fitting into the frame. "Is Brass really gonna pay for that?"

Nick laughed. "Doubtful, man." He looked at Warrick questioningly as he friend held out a soda to him.

Warrick shrugged. "Figured you really did want something, and just didn't want to ask."

Nick took the can. "You know me too well."

Warrick threw himself onto the couch. "Yeah, I do. Besides, you need to take these." He chucked a medicine bottle into Nick's lap.

Nick rolled his eyes. "I'm still numb from that trip to the ER, I don't need anymore."

Warrick glared at him. "You're gonna do what the doctor tells you."

Nick mumbled something about a home care nurse but made a dramatic show of dumping a couple of the pills into his hand and tossing them into his mouth. He took a swig of soda and gave a loud "Ah!"

"Yeah, you better like 'em," Warrick said with a smile, taking a drink from his own can.

The joking was a cover to keep from talking about Mike Miller, but Nick couldn't keep his questions at bay any longer. He'd reported to Brass everything that Miller had told him, but no one had given him an update yet.

Nick stared at the can in his hand. "Did, uh, did Miller confess?"

If Warrick was surprised by the abrupt question, he didn't show it. Actually, it almost looked like he was expecting it. "Yeah. You know Jim. He wasn't going to let him get away with it."

Nick nodded.

Warrick chuckled. "Guy wasn't as smart as he thought, anyways. His prints were on the gun he used to shoot his wife."

"People never learn."

Warrick took another drink. "That's a good thing, man. When they do, it's gonna make our job a whole hell of a lot harder."

The phone rang, and Nick made to get up.

"What are you doing? I got it, man." Warrick jumped up and jogged over to the phone, picking it up on the third ring.

"Hello. Yeah, he's right here." He held out the phone. "Gris," he said quietly in response to Nick's raised eyebrows.

"Hey, Gris," Nick said, accepting the receiver. He would be lying if he said that he wasn't surprised.

_"Nick. How are you feeling?"_

"As well as can be expected, I guess."

_"That's good."_

There was a long pause. Warrick made a face at Nick, who shrugged. On the line, Grissom cleared his throat.

_"You'll be back to work on Monday?"_

Nick almost laughed. In Grissom's weird little way, this was probably a way to see that he was really okay. "Yeah," he said.

_"I'll, uh, see you then."_

"Yeah." Nick hung up and tossed the phone back to Warrick and sighed.

"What?" Warrick asked as he went to place the phone back on its stand.

Nick shook his head. "Nothin'. Just Gris being Gris."

Warrick raised his eyebrows in understanding and drained the last of his soda. "I gotta go."

Nick sat up. "Already?"

Warrick laughed. "Yeah. Man, we don't all get a nice little vacation. I gotta work tomorrow."

Nick sat back and reflexively put his arm against his side. "All right."

Warrick swung on his jacket with an ease Nick envied. "You good for now?"

Nick nodded. "Uh huh. I'm probably just gonna hit the hay here soon. I'm kinda wiped."

Warrick made some kind of sound that was a cross between a grunt and a snort. "You should be, man. You've had a hell of a week. I'll catch ya later."

Nick jerked his head. "See ya."

Warrick opened the door, which required a bit more effort than before, and flinched to see Greg standing there, hand raised like he was going to knock. "Hey, Greggo."

Nick craned his neck to see the door. "Hey, Greg. What are you doing here?"

Greg gave a small wave and an uncertain smile. "Just thought I'd stop by and say hi. See how you're doing." He fidgeted on the front step.

"Well, then come on in, man. Don't just stand out there." Nick waved him in.

Warrick stood aside for Greg to pass, repeated his goodbyes, and left the house. It took considerable force to get the door to fit back in the jamb. Greg and Nick watched Warrick struggle with it in amusement before Greg reached out and gave it a good shove.

"Thanks," Warrick yelled from the other side.

"Anytime. Maybe you should hit the gym a little more often, then you'll be built like me," Greg returned.

Nick shook his head and laughed. Greg seemed more at ease now, and Nick was happy. He didn't know why he'd seemed so uptight anyway.

Greg started to sit down and paused. "You need anything?" He smiled as Nick made a face. "You've probably been through this already."

"Yeah, a couple times."

"So," Greg said, rubbing his hands together. "I came prepared."

"Did you, now?"

"Oh yeah." He grinned and pulled a Playstation game out if his jacket pocket.

"Oh," Nick said with a small laugh. "Dude, it's on."

* * *

It was getting late, and Catherine had been working for what felt like a month straight. She almost forgot what her home looked like, almost forgot what Lindsay's voice sounded like. But she would be there with her baby soon, and that's what Catherine was looking forward to at the moment. She'd finished up with the necessary paperwork and had made the call to Ryan Walsh, explaining what had happened, apologized for any accusatory comments or actions they might have displayed. He'd expressed his gratitude for clearing his name and she'd voiced her condolences over the loss of his son, something she hadn't really done when they'd been considering him the prime suspect.

Catherine flicked off the light in her office and headed out. She was surprised to hear clicking coming from Grissom's office and leaned in the doorway.

"You're still here?"

Gil looked up, seeming a little more worn than he had only a couple of hours earlier. He pulled off his glasses and ran a hand over his beard. "Yeah."

Catherine waited for something more, but that was apparently all Grissom was going to say. She turned to leave.

"I called him."

Catherine turned around and frowned at Grissom. "What are you – "

"Nick. I called Nick."

"Okay…" Catherine took a couple of steps back into the room.

Grissom looked away. "I couldn't even say what I wanted to."

Catherine smiled. "It's okay, Gil. He knows how you feel. They all do."

He returned her smile. "Thanks."

Catherine turned to finally go home.

"You guys did a good job here."

Catherine stopped in the doorway, but didn't turn. She flipped her hair back and smiled. "I know."

She left Grissom's office to the sound of clacking computer keys.

* * *

The End


End file.
